


Harry Potter and the Wayward Prince

by TheRedAssassin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Abuse, Albus Dumbledore Being an Idiot, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Toga Himiko, Big Brother Dabi (My Hero Academia), Bisexual Toga Himiko, Body Modification, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dabi is Todoroki Touya, Death Eaters, Depressed Harry, Depression, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Dubious Morality, Dumbledore being a cuck, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Female Geten (My Hero Academia), Found Family, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Severus Snape, Grief/Mourning, Harry is not a Potter, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Protective Dabi (My Hero Academia), Protective Geten (My Hero Academia), Protective Hawks (My Hero Academia), Protective Toga Himiko, Realistic Mourning, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rewrite, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Needs a Hug, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko Needs a Hug, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko is a Mess, Soft Dabi (My Hero Academia), Traitor, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but that comes with the territory of unknown body glamours right, james potter is not Harry Potter’s father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-10-17 21:26:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedAssassin/pseuds/TheRedAssassin
Summary: It begins at the end of 5th year; the spiraling depression, the strange looks, and bizarre actions. Harry’s not sure he can take it. It’s only by the help of his godfather’s strange friend, Blue Flame, that things begin to change.Featuring the Paranormal Liberation Front in London duking it out with the Death Eaters for reasons only known to the inner circle of the League of Villains, Geten and Dabi competing on who’s best God Parent, Hawks attempting to be a good double agent, Endeavor getting his ass handed to him, Dudley and Petunia being decent human beings, Shigaraki... being Shigaraki, the golden trio trying to figure out who Tenko Shimura is, a spy in Hogwarts, and Voldemort running with his tail between his legs.RIP magical community of England.





	1. Strange Occurances

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a joke on tumblr but has spiraled out of control
> 
> Translations at bottom
> 
> I’m bad at editing so forgive me on errors.

The night was blamy compared to the searing day of the heat of summer but Harry, he didn’t mind it. Then again he hadn’t mind many things since Sirius’s death. In fact he had stopped caring at all. A lot of things that once mattered to him stop being so important. Personal health and mental health non existent, the radio silence of his friends; it had been weeks since he’d looked at a mirror, the horrifying image of Sirus’s body drifting into the milky blue of the veil. It made going to the bathroom difficult, showering even more to the point of going to the kitchen at the wee hours of the night with a washcloth and soap. 

He had started to do that more. Doing things with the cover of night not to be bothered. It didn’t exactly mean he slept in the daylight hours, no more often than not sleep eluded him, leaving him in the quietness of both the day and night. The Dursley’s oddly enough had left him be. In the beginning he had wished they would force him to do dishes, laundry, or anything for he would just stop thinking so much. But Vernon had taken one look at him and decided it wasn’t worth it or something else. From the initial first point of contact after the disastrous ending of fifth year, Vernon has distanced himself more and more from Harry, as if sensing the despair that hung to him like a clouds of gnats. 

Patinua acted differently too. She was… kinder? It seemed the only way to explain her progressively bizarre actions. Years previously she was at home with making his life miserable but it was if someone had jolted her now. It began with the little side glances as if she was unsure of what she saw. At the time he’d peak into a mirror or reflective surface, however long his mind would allow, and try to figure out why she kept doing it. But to him nothing had remotely changed, he still looked like himself abitit stressed and sleep deprived. She suddenly stopped once she caught him looking into the patio glass door. It was one of the last times he was able to stomach peering into a surface for longer than thirty seconds. 

The next big strange thing that started to happen was that she would just sit in the same room he occupied, the only exception to this being his own bedroom. The first time it had happened, it had been only two weeks at most since he’d come back. He’d been sitting in the sun room his head pressed smooshed against the open door. The mid afternoon sun pressed uncomfortably against the thin hoodie draped over his body, the summer heat boiling him alive, but the creeping cold of unfeeling snuggling under his bones forcing the world into a state of nonchalantness. Vernon, earlier that morning, left for a week long conference and Dudley off at a friends house; leaving only himself and Patinua in the house. He wasn’t sure how long he had idly stared at the privacy fence dividing the neighbor’s yard from their own. Only that one second he was alone, the next the sound of a chair scraping the ground. 

Shifting his cheek into the wood,he just barely craned his neck to peer behind him. Like a possum caught in car light or dishonest child, her hand hovered over the offending chair, the other holding a book about gardening. Disinterested at the time, he went back to staring at the fence, the sound of a cushion decompressing and the flicker of pages being the only sign she stayed. The next few days progressed similarity. He would find a place to sit and sometime later she would come with a book and sit with him. Never close enough to be in his personal pace, but close enough that he knew she was there. Initially he hadn’t cared, but then Dudley had returned and much like his mother had given him strange looks then to sitting in the same room as him. It started to make his palms and arms itch. It made everything itch. They longer they stayed, the stronger the need to itch.

It all came ahead two weeks earlier. Harry had grown fed up with this weird watching over him. It grated on his nerves, his patience, his sanity. The sensation of bugs crawling all over him wouldn’t leave and while he knew a shower or even a bath would help, but he could barely stand the mirror or even the reflective surface of the shower walls. Leaving him the only option to suffer and his irritation grow exponentially. Dudley had left the room at this point, doing who knows what while Patuina and him sat in the living room. He wasn’t sure what extracurricular project she had decided to do today. He knew for sure it was paper with the amount of crinkling he could hear behind him. In between the silence and the last paper shifting his patience snapped.

“What-“ he snarled, his body pivoting towards his aunt, “-do you want? You’ve been following me around for weeks. I’m getting fed up with it. So what do you want?”

Started, nothing comes out of her mouth. A piece of decorative paper between her fingers falls to the ground. “I-“ she starts, her voice high and wispy, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Befuddlement crosses his face for a moment before he’s up from the couch. “You wanted to make sure I was okay?” He hisses. “Do I look okay to you?” He throws his hands up then motions to his days old clothes and disheveled appearance. 

Her only response being that of silence, as if she herself was seeing a ghost. 

Scratching his greasy scalp he sets his feet to pacing the room, continuing his tirade. “I haven’t been able to eat, I haven’t been able to sleep, I can’t even look at any reflective surface without seeing his body, I’m in complete agony and you all just keep following me around.”

“I’m sorry.” She states.

“You’re sorry? YOU’RE SORRY? Oh that’s just great!” His arms punctuate the exclamation as his coiled body spins to face her. “What do you have to be sorry for? I mean you’ve been making my past fifteen years bloody miserable. But no. No no.’ His finger waggles as his body stalks forward. “ You’re sorry for following me around. Instead of telling me why, you’re just sorry.” 

“I-” her words die on on her tongue. A look of discomfort lifts from her face as if unsure how to continue, as if something like guilt sat in the bottom of her stomach. The whole look irritated him. It made the itching sensation worse which in turn irritated him more. An unending cycle of irritation. A bubbling well of irritation boiling over top.

“ You know what? I don’t care! Just stop! Just stop it right now! If you actually cared you would’ve been completely different over these years. What’s changed? You didn’t care then so why now? Wait no. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear your excuses. It’s going to make me want to itch more.” 

“Itch more?” More decorative papers flitter to the ground as she suddenly stands up. “What do you mean by itch more?” 

“Why do you bloody care?” He takes a step back not because Petunina is intimidating in herself, but the pure panic in her voice. He finds himself inching away, the seething anger quickly extinguished. 

“Tell me what do you mean by ‘itch more’ right now.” Her voice raising with a breathless quality. She steps forward while he instinctively steps back. “Please.” She adds softly.

He shakes his head as his breathing picks up. Irritation may of fed the itch but if it had seemed almost unbearable before, it had hit it’s fever pitch now. Without command one of his hands had already risen to scratch behind his ear, his neck or his shoulder, he wasn’t sure but knew they all itched as if a stinging hex had hit him. Before his fingernails can even graze his skin, her hand like a viper had gripped his wrist in a surprisingly firm hold.

“Don’t.” Her voice grave “If you start itching you won’t be able to stop.” 

A wet shuttery gasp escaped his lips. The itch ceasing for a moment. In turn a hot iron of sensation clamps to her hand contact. Directly on his wrist. Black bites at the edges of his vision. Somewhere from beyond there's a yip of pain and the hand loosens allowing him to tear it out of her grasp. Startled horror sets over, her body frozen, her eyes widening in realization. There’s no words as they stare at each other. The precious seconds shatter the moment she moves forward. In panic she's shoved away as he races past her to the stairs. 

“T-Harry!” She yells. Recovering from her near fall she turns, her heels clomping as she runs after him. In his haste Harry crashes into Dudley who’d been coming down the stairs. Bodily slamming him into the wall, Harry takes off like a bullet taking the stairs two at a time while a dazed Dudley stares on. 

Skidding to a halt she spots Dudley pushed to the wall. “Dudley take it off, take your shirt off right now.” Her voice near hysterical. Frightened by her tone he quickly tears off his button down shirt as his mother launches herself up the stairs. “Harry!” Her heels thundering up. A door slams shut as she reaches the top and something heavy scrapes across the floor. 

“Harry!” She calls out again banging a hand against the door. She tries the handle, it turns but refuses to open. 

“Go away.” He shouts with his back pressed firmly into the frame of the bed that blocks the door. The horrible stinging pain bites now into both his wrists, arms and wrists. He wants to itch, he wants to itch them both but even with a small frame Petunia gives his hastily made blockade a run for its money. 

“Harry please.” The bed skids forward a few inches as she rams her shoulders into the rickety door. 

“Mom?” He faintly hears Dudley ask. “Mom what’s going on?” Nothing is said for several moments. Harry digs his heels into the chipping wood flooring in preparation. “Mom you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Is Harry okay?” 

Something cracks within him. 

Something drips down his face 

His breath hitches. 

Once the tears start rolling down his face its as if a boat had been pushed into the rapids. More and more gush from his eyes as he tries to wipe them away his hoodie quickly becoming saturated from tears and watery snot. “just leave me alone.” His voice wobbly as a batch of new tears leak out. With each new wave his voice hitches with each attempt at breathing. “Pleassee.” Even more spill out making his head ache in dehydration and it harder to breathe. Short bursts of coughs sputter out as he attempts to get a big breath and a quiet wail rattles within him. His whole frame shutters as he gags from the tears, nearly sick from the sheer amount of mucus. He catches his breath stopping his gagging but the tears stubbornly hold on.

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he finds his body oddly twisted and neck twinging in discomfort as he in-pretzels himself. A horrid headache pounds behind his eyes as he wipes the crust out of his eyes. Like a foal first walking, he stumbles as he pulls himself to his feet. His body protests at the movement making every joint ache and his feet stumble as he makes his way to the window. 

Before the whole incident it had been nearly lunchtime, now the moon hung high in the sky. The internal clock said it was the wee hours of the night and glancing to the dingy alarm clock on a shabby nightstand confirmed it was almost three in the morning. Hedwig had apparently spotted him sleeping and flew off to hunt for the night otherwise she would’ve patiently waited for him at the window. At the start of summer he had released her from her cage to let her come and go as she pleased. Which was smart considering he was becoming more and more forgetful. 

Scratching his palm, he goes to his bed that still blocks the door. His aunt and cousin must of heard his crying session considering the door and bed are nearly in the same position when he started. He feels like he should be embarrassed. But he feels completely indifferent to it. 

As quiet as possible he gently moves the bed out of the way. It’s not because he’s welcoming human contact but more of needing to use the loo. He hasn’t become so desperate to use an empty bottle just yet. Multiple times he stops, listening for any movement within the house before going back to moving the bed. Just when he can barely shimmy between the door and wall does he take a step into the hallway proper. The whole house is quiet beyond Vernon’s snores. 

Even so, he finds himself tip toeing to the bathroom. Quickly taking care of business and avoiding any of the reflective surfaces he comes back out discovering what would be considered the latest of weird things for Petinua to do. On a white plastic dinner dish is some type of meat with potatoes and carrots sitting next to his door. Beside is a little tea cup which he guesses has some type of black tea with how dark the liquid looks. His stomach gives a quiet grumble but Harry gives it an irate look. He scratches his arm before turning to the stairs. He doesn’t want any pity gifts.

Quietly he pads down the stairs spotting the white glow of the tv. An infomercial plays silently. Creeping down the stairs, he pauses at the entrance of the living room spotting Dudley on the couch a similar cup as the one upstairs sits by the remote that is loosely in his hand. One of the throw blankets cover his form. He mumbled sleepily in his sleep. On the other side surprisingly patinua sleeps curled up in an armchair. Her frame tucked snuggly into its sides. Another throw blanket covers her. 

Distancing himself he goes to the kitchen, his hole filled socks cushioning his footfalls on the tile. Ignoring the fridge he goes to a cupboard and pulls out a small bag of crisps. In another he grabs a bottle of water that someone must of forgotten about considering how much dust clings to it. 

Much like coming down he slinks back up, avoiding any loud sounds. He completely side steps the cold food and tea, slipping himself back into the room. Gently he closes his door unwilling to move his bed even more. Crawling over his bed he pulls out the water and crips along with a bottle of aspirin and sleeping pills. Ignoring the crips and pills he opens the bottle and takes a sip. A plastic-y taste lingers as he opens the aspirin and swallows them down chased with the old water. Opening the crisps next he only pulls out a few taking tiny bites as he studies the last bottle, the sleeping pills. 

Throughout the weeks he’d thought of them, innocently sitting in the bathroom closet behind multiple other forgotten bottles. They’d gotten them after Hagrid had given Dudley a pigtail during first year. A tiny little smile inches across his face at the memory before the blanket of nothingness reclaimed its place, shadowing the memory. Apparently Dudley suffered nightmares after the ordeal which seemed utterly ridiculous at the time even more so now but they’d gone to a doctor and got him sleeping pills to help him sleep.

Of course nearly the whole house had forgotten about them. Harry had too till he spotted them while rooting around for the aspirin. The pale moonlight barely illuminated the bottle but Harry refused to turn the light on. His eyes squinting to read the fine print. He gave his neck a scratch annoyed at not being able to read what it said properly. Giving up he twists the bottle open banging out two pills into his hand. Thinking better he taps out another one before closing the lid. Eyeing the little red and yellow pills he rolls them in one hand considering before stuffing them into his mouth and chasing it with water. He hadn’t slept for days till today. And the bliss of sleep had stopped the racing thoughts. Perhaps these would help too. 

Closing the bag of barely eaten crips he sets them on the floor along with the bottle and medication and curls towards the door praying the expired pills would work. The last thing he hears is Vernon’s alarm clock going off before he drifts off.

There was only enough for a week and a half before the pills were gone. It didn’t help that he’d only stay up for five hours before popping another three in the belief of catching up on months of missed sleep. His body greedily drank in the rest making it hard for him to get up even when he had hardly gotten up at all. Some nights he would just lay in bed blearily staring up at the ceiling. Unable to really move or find the motivation to drink some water or even eat. Hedwig would come around every night at roughly one in the morning through his open window. 

For the first two nights she’d perched herself on his bed hooting softly at him till he finally noticed her, his arm scratching easing. For the rest of the nights she’d complete skip perching on the wooden frame and directly landed beside his head settling herself between the crook of neck and shoulder. The first night this had startled him but after every consequential night he simply took it in stride. Occasionally she would hoot and nibble at his hair drawing his hand away from his own to gently pet her snowy feathers. It would only be much later when he realized the massive amounts of flaky brown specks crowded under his nails.

Much like the other nights when the pills ran out, he’d idly been staring up at the ceiling awakened early from his times of sleep. The green illumination across the room reading only ten thirty instead of the usual twelve twenty three. He was tempted to tune out everything, swallow another pill and go back to blissful nothingness but there were sounds of rustling sheets. A gentle chatter accompanying it. Against his better judgment he scooches over craning his head against the door.

“I’m worried Vernon.” Petunia’s quiet voice comes through the wood.

“There’s nothing for it my heart.” Vernon stiffly replies, “If Harry wants to hole himself in his room, it's his choice.”

“We’re his guardians though. We should be taking care of him more than this.”

“I don’t understand this.” 

“Understand what?”

“This sudden need to care for the freak.”

“Vernon.” Her voice hisses.

“What? You suddenly care about freaks? I thought we scrubbed our hands of Potter when they died all those years ago. Unless you’re saying you want to be a witch again.” 

“Vernon I was just a little girl. Don’t you dare hold that over my head as if you have any right to judge me. And you already know Potter has absolutely nothing to do with that boy. If his bloody father was alive right now he’d skin us alive for this.”

“He-“

“I know you never met the man but god damn know that he wasn’t one of those silly wizards. They saw people like him even less than us non magical people. He’d probably be rolling in his grave if he knew Harry went to a magical school.” There's a ragged breath then she continues in a calmer tone. “Vernon he hasn’t came out in nearly two weeks. Maybe he has but I know for sure he hasn’t been eating and the one time I peeked in he was asleep. This isn’t normal behavior for a teenager. Whatever happened over at that school has deeply affected him.”

“If he isn’t Potter kid then how do you explain the weird stuff going about him?”

A deep suffering sigh. “Forget it Vernon. I’m tired of trying to explain it to you.”

“Heart-“

“Don’t ‘heart’ me. Go to bed.”

After a while when his uncles snores murmur through the crack does Harry lay more comfortably into his bed. Multiple questions swimming in his tired head. They feel like taffy. They feel bendy and unsolid as they drip into the nothingness. He flips over, grasping the bottle. His mind tired from its attempted gymnastics he taps the side. When no pill is forthcoming he tips it forward more and more until the whole bottle is upside down. Empty. Harshly breathing he throws the bottle, it bouncing harmlessly against the bed before rolling off to the ground. 

Scritch scritch scritch. 

He pauses. 

Scritch scritch scritch. 

Lethargically he rises from the bed, his wrists and arms stinging. Glancing at the digital clock with mind made up; he’s to his feet quickly. Padding in weeks old socks he quickly opens a dusty drawer rummaging in between stale but clean undergarments until his hands finally grasp a hard lumpy object. Carefully he pulls out the jutting sock; the quid, galleons, and what else lightly ting as he places it into his hoodie pocket. Jamming his feet in too-large of gray trainers he gives the clock another peak before snatching the discarded bottle near the side of the bed. Shimmying on the side of his bed he cracks the door, ears straining, before easily sliding out into the hallway. 

Slinking down the stairs is surprisingly easy with no lights on. And after confirming that Dudley wasn’t sleeping in the living room does he unlatch the locks and make his escape into the hot night. With a semi plan of idea in mind he makes his way to the heart of Little Whinging.

The dark ink abyss stares as Harry glares at an innocent white plank in the pharmacy window. Closing time: 6pm. Scritch Scritch Scritch. He kicks the concrete in frustration. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” He hisses out gripping his hair as tight as possible. Unbidden tears spill out as he collapses on the edge of sideway. Dammit. All he wants is the blissfulness of nothing. This is just another failure upon failures he’s done. He can’t do anything right at all apparently. People are counting on him. People have died for him. And he can’t do absolutely jack right. He should be stronger than this. That’s what the Wizarding world needs right? But he doesn’t want to be this great hero. He just wants to be him. 

A loud bang echoes throughout the empty Main Street pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Scuttling from the side of the road he watches as a bright purple triple decker bus jerkily stop in front of him. Almost dumbly he gapes at it much like third year, the exact same gentleman steps onto the platform reading from what most likely is the same yellow note card as before. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your con-“ 

Similarity Stan breaks off his sentence when he spots Harry sitting on the ground. Unlike before he gives no comment as Harry quickly scrubs his eyes and steps forward into the gentle light of the bus. To be honest he’s grateful no comment is forthcoming. 

“Eh- “ Stan intelligently utters eyeing Harry with only one could call a tentative look. “Speak English?” 

Slightly bewildered he only nods. Giving a look over Harry, which appears more of someone observing a strange wild animal than a human, does his eyes track to Harry’s face. Attempting to avoid the fiasco that happened three years ago he raises his hand as if to shake and introduces himself as “James Evans.”

Stan gives his blood-crusted fingernails, blood stained sleeves, and freshly scratched wrist a look of disgust. Harry would feel a little bad at how green he looks it didn’t have the exact effect of him looking away from Harry’s face. 

“So.” Stan starts pointedly not looking at Harry. “Where yo goin?” Before Harry can answer he continues, “Location... Place…”

“Nearest 24 hour pharmacy.” He tartly says, displeased at how rediciouslous Stan is being. As if he couldn’t understand English at all. 

Both Startled and surprised he only replies with “oh”

“Hey fucko.” A heavily accented voice calls from inside.”You gonna stand out there all night or is this bus going to actually move?” 

“Y-yes sir.” Stan calls back before turning to harry who has already pulled out the sock with coins. Depositing the two golden galleons into Stan’s slack hand he mouths ‘keep the change’. “Right” he only responds. Clopping up the stairs he leaves Harry to enter the bus himself. 

Climbing up,Harry again is greeted by rolling beds, heavily curtained windows and lit candles in stands beside the beds. The bed closest to the door has a rather interesting wizard laying it it. Or at least one Harry has never seen before. He’s dressed in muggle leathers; his black coat dripping onto the floor as his pants and boots fit snugly to his form. His white shirt is rumpled and his black hair mused but quashed under the weight of his head.Twisted almost black burns adorn his arms while more creep up towards his face. Something silver gleams between the dead skin and healthy.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna sit the fuck down?” The man grumbles in a deep tone. Even with his eyes closed, Harry feels watched. 

There’s a spark of high laughter above accompanied by a bubbly tone. “ダビをそんなに意地悪くしないでください。彼らはただ見たいだけです。”

“ええ、彼らは他の場所を見ることができます。” the man retorts.

“なぜそんなに恥ずかしがり屋 ダビ？” the lady responds back.

“ガキを黙らせる。” Without opening his eyes, the man snatches a pillow from a side bed and throws it at the voice. It hits its mark making the lady cry out in response before bursting out in laughter again. 

“あなたが座っていない場合、私は生きてあなたを燃やすつもりです。” The low voice of the man growls, this time his bright eyes focusing on Harry.

“You better listen to him kid.”A different but calm female calls down.”Princess needs his sleep. Gotta find his charming doggy prince ain’t that right? Wouldn’t want a child getting hurt this early in the night mmm?”Stiffly nodding, Harry makes his way towards the front beds before sitting pointedly away from the man.

“くそくらえ” The man calls back to the woman. 

Only laughter replies to what Harry can only assume is an insult. Turning from the strange witches and wizard, he spots Stan sitting in a seat behind what looks like Ernie, the driver, from all those years ago.

“-e got another. Don’t recon ‘e’s older than fifteen. Poor kid. Parents probably dropped ‘im as soon as ‘is curse came in.” Stan says, his head low as he eyes the other occupants. “‘E can’t be with ‘em but there seems like there’s more of ‘em around lately.” 

A non-commital grunt comes from Ernie as Stan sits back up. A lever cranks and the bus lurges forward, making all the beds fly back. Holding onto dear life a cackle escapes Harry as the bus swerves making the beds rocket around like ping pongs. The last time he’d been so focused on not revealing he was Harry Potter and the big revelation of Sirius Black that he hadn’t realized how fun the ride actually was. Two other joyous screeches echo his as a pang of sadness rattles in his core at the thought of Sirius. A moan of despair follows quickly after the others making him peek back at the other occupants.

The man from earlier is much like a cat, gripping the mattress as if by sheer determination he could make it stop sliding everywhere. Above there’s two ladies and surprising a guy all with blond hair by one of the railings. The guy and one of the girls seem to be having the best time of their lives scooting and sliding around. The other girl mostly calm is staring down at the touchy man from before with a smirk as if she were getting pleasure out of watching him suffer. 

A tailspin curve has the man gripping even harder which Harry considers a feat with already how flat the mattress has to be between the man’s fingers. Another turn has him looking away when his bed slams into one of the walls and then swings back out. A bubble of laughter trickles out of him, this is.. oddly the most excitingly simple thing that has happened to him in quite a while that hasn’t tried to kill him. Glancing over he spots Stan peering over his Daily Prophet. A look of pity and innocent guilt plays on his face before catching Harry’s eye.

Clearing his throat he lowers the paper a little more. “So James right? 

“Yes, that’s right.” He spins himself for that he’s at least facing Stan.

“Ever ‘heard ov the Killin’ Blow?” 

“The Killing Blow?” He dumbly mimics.

“Where ‘ave yew been? I’s been all over-“ he stops suddenly his face ghosting bright white. “Eh. Hem. They’re a dangerous sort.” He gently taps the paper:

Killing Blow Spotted In Europe. England Next?

“‘’Ere” he tosses the paper for Harry to catch. “‘Choo need i’ more than I do. I can get anuvver. Just don’t read i’ fron’ ov’ ‘em.” Motioning towards the others on the bus. As inconspicuous as possible Harry folds the paper and sets it beside himself. There’s a clunking sound and by sheer past experience, he grabs the railing of the bed as the beds suddenly slam into each other as the bus stops. Peels of laughter float from a higher floor.

“King’s Crossing” Stan calls standing up from his seat to walk towards the back of the bus. Two tones of disappointed groans follow his words, while another groan of sickness and a breathy laugh come just as quick.

There’s a stamped of feet as two people come barreling down the stairs both joking and play pushing as they exit the bus quickly. A calmer set of footsteps, Harry assuming that it must of been the woman from earlier, sound off in the narrow stairwell as she too exits into the night. For a second there’s no sound but then a harsh cough has Harry looking at Stan who almost seems to be looming over the wizard from earlier who has octopused himself to the bed. 

“You plan on getting off sir?” His words polite but with a biting almost mocking tone to them. 

Harry’s not sure if he’s ever seen a man so white in his life. Even his burns seem light purple with how pale he is. 

Moaning like a dying cat the man slowly detaches himself with a half hearted “Fuck you” as he sits up. The movement of course has somehow made him look even paler. Harry’s not sure if he’s closer to fainting or being sick at this point. 

“ねえダビ、大丈夫?” A new male voice calls from outside. Just a peak of blond hair and gray eyes are barely visible over the dividing bar.

“Yep. Give me a second.” He responds in English. Slowly standing up he slightly wobbles as he too disappears into the street.

“このバスは、井口にお金を稼ぐ可能性があります。” a muffled chatty voice says from outside the bus as Stan closes the door.

“私たちがやったと言ってはいけません。” A pained male voice retorts.

“‘Nd good riddance.” Ernie spits as Stan comes back from to sit in his seat. “Thought ‘em Kosies would never leave.”

Stan clears his throat. Ernie eyes Harry with a look of destain. “Oh ‘nother one then? Woss your name? Ryoko?” He cackles as if he made a particularly hilarious joke.

The feeling of whiplash is back but even stronger than before. Yeah he probably doesn’t look or feel the best but everyone is acting straight up bizarre. First the Dursley’s, now these two and even that crispy corpse of a foreign wizard had been strange. 

“Ern.” Stan starts.

“H-James.” He answers arrogantly “James Evans.”

“Oh really?” He huguffs, “The little Blackened Gertie Gitana has a proper British name? What, did yew choose i‘ in da plan trip ‘ere?” He straight up laughs at the concept. “Probably an’ allk some speacial’y classes ter speak all proper eh?

“Ernie.” Stan grits “Jabba ya yap an’ drive da bus.”

“Oooo. Didn’t know yew liked da Kosies.” He smirks hitting the crank before starting the bus again. 

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh so yew like ‘em Blackened ladies ‘mm? Must give yew a real ‘rill.” 

“Shut up Ernie.” He bites. After a few seconds he deflates to stare at the floor. Harry confused and with nothing better to do decides to sit in the momentary silence and try to wrap his head around what the hell is going on. He’s pretty sure that on his first ride Ernie and Stan had been pretty good friends or at least coworkers. In three years had something changed? Or were there ideas and thoughts on these ‘Kosies’ and ‘Blackened’ so varied that it naturally caused a rift between them. 

“Zafash 24 hour Pharmacy ‘fur da little Blackie.” Ernie croons making Stan take his hat off and throw it at him. 

“Come on.” He gently corrals Harry to entrance. Flipping a switch the door opens to both the darkness and the heat of the July night. “The pharmacy is right over there,”Stan points to a lit up building diagonal from them. Harry takes a step down onto the pavement when Stan tells him to wait. Confusion must be on his face as Stan looks at him in embarrassment. “I wan’ed ta say sorry about earlier.” He scratches behind his head. “It wasn’t exactly nice for me ter assume tings Mr Evans. I promise chooo not all wizards act like that.” He smiles and offers out his hand much like Harry had done earlier in the night. “Nice ter meet ch’oo Mr Evans.

“Likewise Mr. Shunpike.” He responds with a smile. 

A pleased smile replies as he shakes his hand.

Turning away he steps the rest of the way off the bus. 

“Oh Mr. Evans.” His voice making Harry face him again. “Ch’oo forgot dis.” The daily prophet gifted to him is placed in his hands. “Hope i' 'elps. Be safe James.” He gives one final smile before shutting the door. A BANG punctuates the departure of the knight bus.

“Hope it helps?” Harry repeats exchanging the paper between his hands. Something within the paper crinkles and clings. Curious he undoes a fold of the paper discovering 7 galleons, 11sickles and several Knuts, unwrinkling the pound notes there’s at least six 10 pound notes. He glances up already knowing the bus has disappeared into the night but can’t help but wonder why at the generosity. A few tears escape before he’s rubbing them off with his sleeve. Next time he sees Stan he’ll repay his generosity.

Blinding is the word Harry would call the pharmacy as he enters from the night. It stings his eyes who are unused to the brightness. The fact should worry him but he isn’t particularly bothered considering he’s so close this goal now. He hasn’t felt this live since- well.. before the department of mysteries. Carefully tucking his hands further into his sleeves and rolling them for the ends don’t show he makes his way further in. To his right ceiling high shelves fill the walls mostly covered in hair color, perfume, lotions and further down vitamin gummies. To his right several short shelves are lined with toothbrushes, toothpaste and mouthwash. On the far right wall multi colored rims of glasses glint off the harsh fluorescent light as a large sign near the ceiling states : Welcome to ZAFESH. The Only 24 Hour Pharmacy In the Country! In front of him is counter decked with tiny little sweets while another aisle follows behind it with unknown but colorful items. Towards the back of the same aisle a girl no more than 23 sits with her cellphone open, her finger scrolling rapidly as a bright green bubble pops. 

Stopping at the tiny counter he patiently waits for the attendant to look up who only sighs at the sight of him and leisurely strolls up. Her eyes lift in appraisal as she studies him. “So.” Another bubble pops. “Whatcha doing tonight?”

“Just refilling this.” The white bottle clinks as he deposits it onto the counter.

Picking it up with acid green nails, she gives the bottle a little spin “Dudley Dursley” Another indiscernible look passes over. “So not a night owl by choice then? Shame.” Her lips smack as another bubble pops. “Wait here.” Her boots clomp as she goes back down the aisle to a little window. Banging on the metal shutter twice, she opens it yelling, “Prescription!” There’s a muffled sound from the other side. Tossing the bottle into the opening she releases the shutter making it fall with a Slam. “Said he’ll meet you in the consultation room” She gestures to the side with her thumb. 

Walking over, Harry spots the large sign with Consultation Room written on it stashed in the back of the next aisle across from the feminine products. Through the glass of the small room he can see a short bald man with a fluffy mustache. Tentatively grabbing the handle he opens the thin door and sits in the hard uncomfortable seat. 

“Mr Dursley is it?” The pharmacist asks over his thick glasses. 

“Dudley is actually my cousin.” Harry admits under small brown eyes. 

“I see.” He picks up the bottle almost as if contemplating it. “Did he ask you to get some more then?”

“Yes sir.” 

“Mmmm. Do you know what this bottle contained?”

“Sleeping pills.”

“Indeed.” He sets the bottle down on the small desk. “Tell me. Do you know prescriptions have expiration dates?”

“Uh. Because they go bad?” Harry answers with his most innocent looking face. One of his hands grips the other wrist.

“Yes. But the reasoning why is because the drugs in them can have unexpected results if not taken in due time. So how many have you been taking each night?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“You come to a twenty-four hour pharmacy at two in the morning with your cousin's five year old prescription to refill it, instead of your cousin. So how many have you been taking each night then?”

Flushing at being caught his hand jangles up and down. Harry glances out the window to see if the cashier is out there or even make a mad dash for the door. 

“This is purely confidential.” The man calmly states, his foot gently blocking the door. “No one outside of this room will know.”

“No one?” 

“No one. It’s an oath.” He smiles pleasantly.

“O-okay.” He releases his hand to only twine them together. “T-three.” 

“Three?” The Pharmacist exams the bottle again in a paturbed yet fascinated fashion. “One is the recommended dose. You swallow three a night? How long have you been taking these?” 

“For almost three weeks sir.” His fingers twitch.

“Interesting.” He rubs his mustache and finally sighs at the twitchiness of the young man. “As you can already imagine I can not fill this prescription. Considering the circumstances and such it would be best I report it.”

“B-“ Harry unclamping his hands starts to rise out of his chair.

“-But.” The man motions with his hand egging Harry to sit back down. “I see your’e just a young man, deeply troubled from something that has happened most recently. As much as I would like to fix you, as of present, I currently like my position and can not afford to risk it. What I can do-‘ he says as removes his foot from the door “-is suggest several options that can at least ease your troubles. If you are willing to hear them, that is.”

Taking the lack of absence as a yes he motions for Harry to come closer. He hisses as the man grabs one of his hands and peels off the sleeve to reveal the less than a year old ‘I will not tell lies’ scar. He clicks his tongue. “Do you do this often?”

“No.” He glances up at the man. “No. I don’t harm myself.” He snatches his hand out of his grasp. “I- A teacher made me carve into my hand.” 

“A teacher?” The pharmacist blinks.

“She’s gone now. But…” he shrugs his shoulders.

“I understand.” He responds slowly leaning back into his seat. “Now. About your sleep problem. Often people in high stress times can’t slow their minds enough to sleep or simply unable to stay asleep. I can’t speak to which one happens to you, but there are a few things I would suggest. Take whichever you fancy or try them all. 

“The first is try tiring yourself with exercise. Another is a decent sleep schedule, it doesn’t have to be the typical sleeping times but one that you follow and don’t stray from. Sometimes mediation will work, reading a book or even calming music. When I was much younger I had a teen much like yourself who’d use repetitive motions. His go to was video games, but I wouldn’t suggest that considering the light of the screen usually keeps people awake. Soft ambient and repetitive sounds work as well. There are quite a few options to be honest. Try them and see if any of them work for you okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s a good boy then.” The pharmacist responds vacating his seat and opening the door. “Come along then. Someone’s bound to be worried about you at this point.” Like a little duckling, Harry follows him out till the end of the aisle before the pharmacist is shooing him towards the door. There’s a dualtrality of emotion in him, on one end something soft and pleasant on the other the icy tredels of dread and failure. 

“And Harry,” the short short stout man says in the most calm voice possible. “Stay away from sleeping pills. Especially Dalmane. It’s dangerous.”

“Yes sir.” He answers departing once again into the night of London.

Opting out of taking another ride on the Knight Bus for obvious reasons, Harry takes to the mostly quiet streets of London to hopefully find a Tube that’s still open at this hour. After two failed attempts at finding a station with a running train he’s about ready to just find a bench to sit on for the remaining hours till five when on just an off chance he finds one still running. None of the tellers are open which isn’t surprising considering it’s almost four but a single dingy electronic teller is. Inserting a few bills, the machine sputters before spitting out a blue card. He goes through the electronic gate before finding himself a bench to wait. It doesn’t take long for the train to show and he’s seated in an empty cart in the back.

Glancing around he slowly pulls out the rumpled but still readable Daily Prophet. The edges are a little frayed and fringed as unfolds the paper; 

Killing Blow Spotted in Europe. England Next?

In a surprising turn of events, the Killing Blow, an international terrorist cell, has been spotted in both Ukraine and only a few weeks later, Germany. Our foreign responder, Malinda Stockspirt as well as local reporter to the area Kizuki Chitose where able to send this report off before their radio silence three weeks ago. “They [Killing Blow] are an interesting bunch of characters to say none the least. In [the magical] community of Japan, they’re seen as a small but dangerous group of individuals having [extraordinary abilities] that work surprisingly well together. They’re considered part of Japan’s most wanted and more often than not have no true goal beyond destruction.

[...] The six members consist of Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Himiko Toga, Suichi Iguchi, Twice and Mr. Compress. The true identities of Twice, Dabi and Mr. Compress are unknown for right now but it is only a matter of time before they are revealed. [...] Tomura’s appearance is largely unknown but most of the others have made some type of appearance in public…” {more on page 3}

There’s a cough as a man dressed in a heavy coat comes onto the tube making Harry break from the paper to look up. Glancing back down he goes back to the paper. Below the article is a surprisingly grimy photo of several individuals. The clearest individual is a man who appears to have multiple hands gripping his body while several other blurry figures follow him. The caption “Mr Compress with several individuals? What are they planning?” Is written in small script. The whole lot seem to be sneaking around what appears to be a destroyed building. Several other articles surround the larger one but consist more of propaganda articles about which witch or wizard did what scandalous thing today, warnings of the Death Eaters, the mounting talk of Fudge’s possible resignation and who might replace him.

He only skims through some of them before turning the page to skim the big headliner article continued which consist more of what the Killing Blow had done; attacking a school, kidnapping children, destroying parts of cites, and a full out brawl with the Yakuza, who he learned were just Japanese gangsters. There was also a short description of each member; Mr Compress with the hands, Twice in a top hat and mask, Shigaraki in a gray full body suit, both Dabi and Suichi lizard-like, and Toga with short brown hair and wide brown eyes, the most normal looking between the whole group. At the end was a thank you to Rita Skeeter for help in translation. 

Seeing the woman’s name leaves a bad taste in his mouth and he goes to the other articles before turning to the quidditch columns. With the gentle rocking and quiet sound of the rail he finds his eyes drooping and head nodding till the paper slips out of his hands to the floor scattering about. It doesn’t matter much to him though, with his head uncomfortably notched between one of the rails and seats he finally drifts off in a natural sleep elusive to him for months. 

“Kid. Hey kid” 

Someone lightly taps his shoulder. Mumbling about five more minutes he turns a little away, burying his face a little more into the seat. 

“Get up kid.”

The light taps turning into shaking. Blearily Harry opens his eyes peering at the officer. She chuckles as he closes his eyes again and snuggles even more into the seat. 

“Come on now. I know you’ve been sleeping for a bit but I need you to get off the train for it can be serviced.”

He cracks his eyes open again 

“Oh don’t give me that look. You can go to sleep on one of the other trains. Or wait for the next one to come considering at this point you’ve probably missed your stop a couple times over by now” she smiles, her arms cross nonchalantly over her chest.

“What time is it?” He sleepily asks as he stands up a yawn crawling out of his throat and cracking his jaw. His shoulders jitter as his spine cracks with his flexed heel.

“Five o’clock.” 

“Oh that’s not bad.” 

“In the evening.”

“W-what?”

“Yeah. Had yourself a nice long nap eh? You’re been here since the start of my shift at eleven.”

“Five o’clock.” He slowly repeats itching at his neck. “Uh. Where exactly am I?”

“Right outside of Surrey.” 

“Really? That’s actually my stop.” 

“Well fancy that. Now get off my train kid.” She says with a teasing tone motioning with her thumb towards one of the doors.

“Right.” He sends her a grateful smile before ramming into a pole. 

“Careful now.”

“It uh.” He awkwardly pats it as it were an animal. 

“Jumped out right in front of you right?”

“Yeah.”

“Get off my train you loon.” She grins before shooing him off.

He flinches as she turns and finds himself leaving the train. A few people mill around on the dock but he pays them no mind. His eyes only on his stinging palm. A few flakes of yellow sticking to it. Wiping his hands on his pants he goes up the stairs to exit the tube into Surrey proper. 

It’s almost seven by the time he makes it to Privet Drive. Most of the cookie cutter houses with their two point four average family per households have already turned in for the night. Leaving only a stragler whose grabbing the mail. They gave him an odd look inching away as if he were some rabid creature. He’d categorize this as bizarre along with nearly everything else crazy going on if it weren’t the norm. For once after this chaotic night (day? Couple of nights?) someone wasn’t acting like they’d snorted something. 

Harry gives them a slight smile and wave and okay he might of gotten a little pleasure at them weakly waving their hand then scrambling inside as politely as humanly possible. He tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket as he comes up onto the curve in the middle of Privet Drive, number four within sight. His earlier good mood diminishing every step he comes closer. The itch is back. He hadn’t even known it had left but he’s tempted to run back the way he came. Dread mounts as he comes upon the stairs, a set of eyes staring at him behind his back. Glancing back reveals nobody, not even Ms. Figgs with her house cast in darkness. He vaguely remembers her saying she was going on a holiday some time late July. Had so much time already passed since school ended? It felt like time was crawling for him. 

Turning the knob he slowly enters the house, the lights in the sitting room on but with nobody within. His hand aches. Gently the door closes as he properly enters the entrance hall. Despite the multiple social interactions he’s had in such a short time he’s not keen on another. Or specifically one with his Aunt. Or his uncle. Or even Dudley at this point. The house is silent as he makes his way back up the stairs. The pressure in the house seems almost heavier as he stands on the top landing. Something like a Geist with it’s icy fingers grip his being as he passes the upstairs bathroom. A pale thin shadow traverses the space and he finds himself bolting the rest of the way into his room it following in his wake. 

The door closes with a SLAM as he quickly locks his door staring at it as if whatever specter beyond was going to rattle or even come through the door. The thought of a dementor crosses his mind and for a split second it almost seems like a comforting way to go. If he can’t jump through the void he could receive a kiss. But the longer he stares at the door the sillier the idea of a rogue dementor is. Maybe it’s just Sirius’s ghost to come to take him. A bubble of laughter slips through his lips and before he can stop they pour out like a waterfall unbidden and fast. His eyes sting at the sheer ludicrous thoughts but he can’t stop. Something seems so instinctual funny. Maybe he’s just going mad?

Tears gather at the edges of his green eyes as it becomes louder and louder until he’s sure even the neighbors could hear. At the final fever pitch it deescalates, crashing that of a wave in the ocean, the force rolling underneath the surface. The tiny specs of leftover giggles slowly turn to sobs. For a second he had hoped for death. He. He didn’t want to die did he? The empty void of silence within his mind was disturbing. Because for a second he couldn’t even think of a reason to live. He tugs at his unkempt oily hair trying to ground himself, afraid he’ll float away into the abyss. 

There’s a gentle knocking on his door, snapping him out of whatever was clinging to him. He’s back in his messy room that had seen better days. A thick coat of dust covering everything except for the bed with it’s overly tangled sheets. He hadn’t even noticed the bed had been moved back to its original position until now. There’s another knock at the door, it more insistent than before.

“Harry are you in there?” Dursley’s voice muffled by the door asks. 

“Y-yeah.” He scratches at his throat. He feels like he’s swallowed a nest of spiders. When’s the last time he’s actually drank anything? He tries not to think about it as he spies the half filled water bottle sitting on his nightstand and the barely eaten crisps. He thinks of Ms Figgs and the conversation he’d overheard earlier. How- how is he even alive right now? Humans at most could survive three days maybe four if it was humid without water. How long had he just been sitting here in the darkness? 

“Um. Are you okay?” 

He wants to snap at him, asking if he thought he was okay, but after everything he feels exhausted again. A weariness that seems almost part of his being weighs him down as he sits beside the door. “Not really.” He replies.

“That was kind of a silly question to ask, wasn't it? Do you want me to grab you anything?” 

“No.”

“I- do you want to talk about it?” There’s a shifting of fabric and the door bounces a little bit before settling. 

“Talk about what?” He coughs for a second before itching his arm.

“Well…” Dudley starts his voice louder and clearer than before. “What happened with you and mum last week. She’s been really worked up since then. And I heard you ”

“You heard me?” He tries thinking back but it feels more like a dream than an actual memory.

“I heard you scream. And then mum was shouting your name when you ran past me and she nearly had a panic attack at it.”

He shakes his head to answer but realizing that Dudley wouldn’t be able to see answers. “No. I don’t know why.” He grabs his wrist mimicking roughly the same motion she had done. “She did grab me though.” Skrit Skrit. “I don’t know why but it felt like someone had branded me.” 

“Oh.” His voice uncertain.

“Hey Dudley?” He asks after a moment.

“Yeah?” 

“Why are you acting so nice right now?” He scratches at his wrist again before itching his neck.

“Well” after a beat, he continues, “Last summer. While it was all dark in that alleyway…” Harry remembered that. It was when the dementors had attacked. “You tried to warn me about whatever was in the darkness and I didn’t listen. I just remember feeling really cold and nothing good would happen again. And I saw things… Really bad things… Like the way I was treating you. And the things I had done. I was so scared afterwards. So when dad asked who had done it, I blamed you because you were at the center of it all. It wasn’t until much later this past year that I figured out why I was so scared.

“There was a segment our teacher had us watch during study hall about a girl. She… She committed suicide. The investigators were going through all the evidence and how her life had been. And I started noticing things. Things I had done. Things mum and dad had done. Things that were slowly adding up. 

“I was just like the people who bullied the girl. Making her life miserable. And I realized I was just like them. I had been doing it to you. I had been doing it to other people. So I stopped being friends with a lot of people. They had laughed and joked about the girl, how stupid the movie was but they didn’t see what they were doing wrong. I didn’t want to be a bad person. I didn’t want to drive people to that type of desperation. 

“So when you came home this summer. I was determined to make it better. But. When you came home you were quiet. Something had changed and I started to worry that it was too late. I think mum realized too because she started to hang around you and I was worried so I started to do the same thing. Then that day came when you two fought. I had gone upstairs to use the loo and when I came down to find out what happened, You were running past me with the most horrific expression I’ve seen you have. And i was afraid something had happened. 

“Later that night since you weren’t leaving your room and I heard mum and dad having a spat I made you some tea. I thought it might calm you down. But it was still there in the morning along with a plate of untouched food. Mum started to check on you and dad refused to even acknowledge what was going on. It wasn’t till yesterday that I noticed those really old sleeping pills were missing when I went looking for burn cream. 

“I didn’t tell mum or dad because I was scared about what they would do. So when dad left for work and mum went off to a friends house she told me to check on you. So the moment they left I ran into your room expecting to- expecting to see- I don’t know what I was expecting to see but when you weren’t there I was relieved. And then I started panicking. What if you had just left to… So I went to every place I thought you might of been hiding but still couldn’t find you. I hoped you would come back on your own and I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to you laughing. I’m glad your back but…”

“Sorry.” Harry says, “I had to go for a walk. This place feels like it’s suffocating me.”  
“Oh.” There’s a sniffle from the other side of the door. “I can give you the house key then if you want. Dad nearly blew a gasket this morning seeing the door unlocked. I told him it was me late last night throwing out rubbish.”

“Yeah. That would be nice actually.” 

There’s a jangle of keys as Harry assumes is Dudley going through his own key ring before there’s metal scraping on the wood floor. A bronze key barely peaks from under the door. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” 

“...”

“Hey Harry?” 

“Yeah?”

“If I leave you some tea out here. Will you try to drink a little of it?”

“I can try.”

“Thanks.”

I’d been three days since that exchange. And good to his word, a cup of tea was always left outside his room. And Harry likewise attempted to at least swallow some if not all. Even if it left an uncomfortable full feeling in him. And thanks to the key, he’d been taking a walk each night. 

This particular night was blamy compared to the searing day but Harry didn’t really care. Then again he hadn’t cared for a lot of things lately. Even with the key to escape his room, the clotting essence of despair hung around him like a sticky piece of gum stuck on his shoe. He at least tried some type of personal care by switching out of the grime infested clothing that swamped his figure. Then again the raggedy black hoodie and equally roughed-up jeans didn’t exactly fit him either. He looked closer to swimming in them than actually wearing them. But they were clean and lacked the distinct red stains that covered the other hoodie’s sleeves. The hood was up and with his hair now longer he was fairly sure most of the neighbor’s wouldn’t recognize him. 

Then again they might call the cops on him for slinking around.

To be less conspicuous he finds himself walking in the more downtrodden area of Surrey. Nobody is on the streets this early in the morning and he gives his thanks. He’s not sure what he would do if anyone tried starting something with him. He left his wand in his room and he’s fairly sure he was going to get stabbed if it came down to a knife fight. Contemplating on returning he runs his hand on an older brick building, shuddering in bliss. The Itch had spread again. Not to his whole body but to his palms which had started from just annoyance to irritation.

It’s while he’s close to being out of the alleyway he’s in when he hears it. Stepping away from the wall he pauses straining his ears. It sounds like… he’s not quite sure what. Like metal striking concrete? But it sounds wrong, like the cling he imagines is dulled. Striking something heavier? Thicker? There’s a Swoosh and he recognizes that. It’s like the sound when using the floo network. Which is bizarre considering where would a fireplace be out here? His curiosity wins out as he trots over to the crossroads. Looking both ways only sees empty streets and darkness. Maybe the occasional flickering lamp and crumbling building but not any living being. 

Glancing behind yields no results either just an empty alleyway. Hairs rise on the back of his neck and decides that yeah. Maybe cutting the walk a little early tonight would be a good idea. He’s barely made more than a few steps in when the tail tale sound of billing smoke and ash comes from behind him. Spinning he only spots the woman with dark hair and cloak a split second too late before she’s practically plowing over him. 

They both go down like the world’s worst trust fall, tumbling over each other in a tangle of limbs. She’s the first to orient herself correctly, clambering over him like a rat and for the love of everything that is magical would she stop digging her sharp knees and elbows in him. When she’s finally off him, Harry coughs out the dust of the road and blearily tries to look up at her. Sometime between falling, tumbling, or her re-enactment of bad rom com first meetings he’s lost his glasses which is just great. Without prompting she’s already grabbing his shoulders and bodily lifting him to a stand. Dear Merlin he’s not that light is he?

“Ohthankgodyou’rehere.I’msaved.theywon’ttryanythingwithamuggleheretheirbossforbaditahahha.You’llbemyknightinshiningarmorandi’llgetawayfromthosenastynastyblackenedpeople.” Her words are a jumble as she hides behind him directing him with his shoulders towards the crossroads. The pressure from her hands burn.

Like a viper he grabs what must be her cloak and throws her in front of him. She stumbles before whirling around cackling as if they were simply friends messing around. His arms itch. He can’t place it but the laugh seems extremely familiar. The palms of his hands feel hot, almost as if they could catch fire at any moment. 

“Oh don't’ be like that.” She laughs still outside of his blurry range of sight. “If we don’t work together they’ll kill me. You don’t want a random stranger to die would you?” Her voice sweet. It sickens him.

“That’s not exactly how you ask for help” He rasps out coughing a little at the tumble in dust. His throat feels thick yet raw at the same time. Her voice, has he heard it before? “Weren’t you just scared out of your mind a minute ago?”

“Details Details. With a muggle here they won’t do anything!” She crows. Something about the way she says muggle. Almost with a gross destain. He’s sure he’s heard her voice before. But it eludes him from where.

“Oh you should be so lucky!’ She grabs his boulders again bringing him close to her “You get to protect someone as important as me.” At this range even squinting he can see her curly brown hair wild and singed, slicked to her forehead and thrown back in a tangled mess. Her brown almost black eyes that glittered with unsheathed madness. Her sharp checks, pointed chin, small nose and pouted lips. There’s a molten fury buried underneath his skin.

“Lucky huh?”

“Now you’re getting it.” She smirks.

A grin cracks across his face and she returns it. Little throaty snickers dripple between his teeth. She responds with her own tingly ones. The dam breaks as his laughter lets loose , escaping as if running from the devil himself. For a second she joins, her laughter high and ringing until sputtering as the collar of her cloak tightens across her throat. 

“Luck? Is that what you call this Bellatrix Lestrange?” They’re nearly nose to nose as he drags them face to face. He can feel her picked up breathing across his face. His jaw almost feels sheared in half with how wide his smile is yet it feels almost right. A small part of him feels disgusted but another part, much larger, is drowning in sheer ecstasy at the confusion, panic and fear in her face. 

“Oh what don’t recognize me?” He asks tilting his head and hooding his eyes even more. At her weak shake a giggle crawls out of his throat. “Let me give you a clue then.” Her throat babbles underneath his knuckles. In the highest sing-songy voice he can manage, he mimics the sentence that’s haunted him for weeks.

“I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black.”

It’s silent for a second, as if the idea has to sink in before her eyes blow wide. “”W-what?” Panic and confusion take center stage as her tiny eyes stare into avada kedavra green eyes. “Harry Potter doesn’t look like you.” She pulls at her collar, pushes at his arms, his hand, his body. Anything to get away. He doesn’t move.

“What don’t recognize your handy work?” His head tilting cutely. “You made me like this. You should be proud.” A bark of laughter has him clenching his teeth down in another smile it smaller than the one earlier. She’s scrambling like an animal caught in a cage. She digs her nails into his abused wrists and arms, scratching and borrowing like a rat caught between a hot cage and a warm body underneath. The panic the fear. It feeds the angry black thing inside him, the vindictive pleasure, the power. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

“Didn’t you mock me about coming to get you? Ironic that you came to me instead.” He itches somewhere behind his ear, as her struggling pausing for a moment before returning with vigar. She’s given up attacking his abused arm but attempting to pull, twist, anything to escape her cloak. 

“L-let me go.” She wheezes as she tangles herself more into the fabric.

“Now why would I do that?” He hisses. How had his hand not caught on fire yet? A prickling sensation eats at his palm, it feels like the heat is bending and giving way. The thick fabric of the cloak feels thinner somehow. “You came to me for help. You’re important right?” He mocks.

She pulls, twisting herself while attempting to claw at him again. “Let go. Let go. Let go.” He thinks he sees tears. “They’re going to kill me if you don’t first.” 

“If you don’t stop moving you’re going to hang your own self.” He grits raising his other hand to grab her hair. She whimpers.

“Oi” a deep voice calls out. His hand stops quickly, dropping to his side as a blurry object comes out of the darkness. “The boss wants a chat with her.” The figure lights up in shades of blue for a second before dipping back into an outline. A soft glow of orange lingers nearby, the distinct smell of tobacco wafts in the air.

“Hehehehe. The pretty lady’s found a friend. Wonder if their blood will taste as good?” Another figure giggles coming out of the darkness into a dim streetlight. 

“Boss said wizards only kitten.” A cool feminae voice says from another direction, their form heavily deformed.

“So this was who you were running from?” Harry asks squinting his eyes at the new people occupying the alleyway. Only one is somewhat visible, with blonde hair and a dark colored dress. Bellatrix only whimpers in answer. Instead of escaping she’s attempted to curl herself to him. Letting her go only confirms she isn’t running but hiding behind him like a human meat shield or a terrified child. Both ideas make the angry black thing inside him quiver; from glee or loathing he isn’t sure. 

“So kid.” A soft inhale and a puff of smoke snakes around in the air. “She with you?”

“N-“

“Yes!” Bellatrix shouts cutting Harry off. She’s gripping his shoulders as hard as possible. Her head near the crook of his neck and shoulder. “He’s entirely a muggle and part of the death eaters.” She nods at her lies as if her word was the only thing needed to confirm such facts.

“The fuck?!” 

Before he knows what’s happened she’s in front of him again, his hands wrapped firmly around her throat. “As if I would be death eater you slimy miserable little bitch.” He hisses. 

Fweeeet. 

“And I thought we were kinky!” The bubbling laugh of the girl is back.

“With friends like that why need us?” The other girl coos.

“As much as I would love to watch you choke out Mrs Lestrange here,” the man’s voice filled with barely concealed sarcasm, “We need her in mostly one piece.”

“Mostly in one piece?” Harry repeats under his breath suddenly letting go as if burnt. Cold dread overcomes him, not because of what’s about to happen to Bellatrix but what he had nearly done. He’d been so angry. Even angrier than the day Sirius had died. He- he promised himself he would never stoop as low as Voldemort. But he was just choking out one of his followers.

He steps back startled and staring as Bellatrix kneeling on the ground coughs attempting to catch her breath. Feeling dirty he wipes his hands on his pants but the clotting un-rightness lingers even if for a horrifying second it felt right. Taking another step back feels correct and for once in his life instead of facing the truth or tackling a problem head on, he turns and runs. 

Barely a mew of panic comes out as Bellatrix tries to stand and follow but a knife has already found it’s home hovering right at the hollow of her neck. Another voice tisks.

“Not much of a white knight were they? they ask gripping the distressed witch’s arm in a cold grab. 

“He he! They left a pretty good mark too!” The knife lightly pokes at the abused skin, leaving little dribbles when poked too hard. “Wonder what his quirk is? Looks like fun to play with!” she exclaims as the knife catches a piece of loose skin. Bellatrix whimpers as that knife pulls at it.

“That’s enough. Hand job is going to blow a gasket if she’s too messed up.” The man says peering down at the cowering Bellatrix. His sacred mouth quirks up. The staples outlining his burns gleaming as much as his teeth. “So Mrs. Lestrange. Care to go on a stroll with us?”

The girl with the knife giggles while the other in a large baggy brown coat just scuffs at the antics. “劇的な雌” She mutters under her breath.

“You act as if you aren’t one as well.” He smirks at her frown. A glint catches the man’s eye and he strolls over snatching a pair of glasses off the ground. He rocks them between his fingers as he leisurely stalks forward. “Maybe you can tell us more about your ‘friend’ eh?”

At the sight of them, Bellatrix’s eyes water as the two girls beside her snicker.


	2. Disaster of a First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicization is Japanese.

A steady thrum of rain pelts the room as the prime minister sits in his office attempting to digest what Fudge had told him the night before. If a bridge collapsing and the rise in violent crimes was any indication of what the ensuing ‘magical’ war to come, it did not paint a pretty picture for the whole of England. Doing some digging into the archives after the little meeting the same trend appeared roughly thirty years ago, only stopping maybe fifteen ago. He would’ve extended a helping hand, considering this issue was affecting both the magical and non-magical world but with Fudge’s dismissal when they first met and even to last night it wasn’t promising. It didn’t help that he didn’t even know how to contact said Minister of Magic. He’d tried asking one of the portraits to contact Fudge again, but after several minutes felt ridiculous for speaking to what in all in purposes was a painting.

He was half tempted to scrub at his eyes, the late night taking its toll on him. A gentle knock sounded at his door and made a somewhat attempt to not look as if he only slept for three hours the night before. “Sir?” A young man with brown popped his head in. “Are you busy? Ambassador Koji Tsuruoka would like a word.”

“Of course.” He answers sliding other paperwork over the old reports.

The door snaps shut before opening again, permitting an older Japanese gentleman with black hair and glasses to enter the office. “Ah thank you for letting me speak with you on such short notice.” He lightly bows his head.

“It’s no problem at all.” He says standing from his desk to shake Tsuruoka’s hand. “Please come in.” He motions to a chair and they both sit in. “So tell me Mr Tsuruoka what can I help with you today?”

“I have some- news” he says glancing around as if trying to spot something. “Something of great importance to be honest.”

Intrigued he leans slightly towards as Tsuruoka continues “The Diet as well as the Public Safety Community has been in turmoil since the end of May considering an issue that has arisen in Tokyo.”

“I’m not sure I follow Mr. Tsuruoka.”

“I am not allowed to disclose much of the situation to anyone outside of the Japanese government or certain communities but considering what is happening I find that this type of secrecy will be devastating to the relations between Japan and England if not shared. Not including how much danger your citizens could be in.”

“So this is of national security importance then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

A tiny stressed laugh comes out as he mutters “Another one then?”

“Another one?”

He sighs. “You aren’t the first person to come to me in the last twenty-four hours bringing news like this.” He digs out some of the files hidden underneath. Purcuring the ones pertaining to the recent skyrocketing crime rates and bridge collapse he sets them before Tsuruoka.

“I don’t understand Minister.” He says as he flips through the files. “Why are you sharing these with me?”

“Something terrible is already going on in England Mr Tsuruoka. Best to be informed about it right?” A pained smile crosses his face. “Your news wouldn’t have anything pertaining to death eaters would it?”

“Death Eaters?” He asks startled.

“Ah forgive me. I thought-“

“What do you know about Death Eaters?” He asks urgently. If before the older gentleman had appeared calm now he seemed overly worried.

“Death Eaters have been responsible for all these actions.” The minister says slowly, anxiety prickling at his words.

“That explains why they’re on the move then.” The diplomat says more to himself than the minister slowly getting up from his chair to pace.

Standing as well he comes from behind the desk to stand near the other man, “Who?”

The man stops glancing at the minster uncertainty before a determined look passes. “Tell me minister do you know what a Kosei is?” At the confused shake, he brings his fingers together before snapping. A bolt of electricity comes out arcing around his hand in a wild show of blue and white. He releases his fingers, the electricity sputtering till dying out. The air feels lively almost as if the very molecules around have been energized. At the impressive feat, the prime minister leans against his desk in equal portions of awe and trepidation.

“In Japan we call them Kosei but in America they call them quirks. They’re often passed down biologically but sometimes they just simply show up.”

“Much like magic then.” The man wheezes.

“I believe it's not quite like magic but...” he trailed off looking at the bewildered look of a man whose world has been turned upside down. “I suppose for this explanation magic would be a decent analogy.”

“Can you do anything else then?” He moves his hands a bit almost as if holding a wand.

“My Kosei only allows me to wield electricity created naturally from my body. I am unable to do anything else, like setting things on fire. I can’t do something like a warlock can.”

“Ah you don’t know about wizards then?” At the question the ambassador studies him expedicantly. “I’m not one. If you were expecting me to display some type of magic, but just last night I was visited by Fudge, ah, that would be the minister of magic.” He answers the unasked question.

“Fudge? I believe there was talk of another minister that’s been ignoring any type of meetings with the HKI. Is there a way to contact them?”

“Afraid not. The man is hard enough talking to when he’s actually here, trying to contact him when he doesn’t want to talk is nearly impossible. Trust me, I’ve been trying all night and day. Unless you know how to teleport through fireplaces”

“I have never heard such a thing but I’m not surprised.” At this the minister looks at him. “Kosei are very strange. Some people can do some of the bizarrist things with them. “

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised considering magic is real.” He huffs while the silence sits a little. “Can I ask who you were referring to ‘being on the move’.?”

“Ah yes. They call themselves Viran Rengō,”

“Viran Rengo?”

“Villain Coalition. Or what has been popularized as The League of Villains . They’re a group of terrorists to be honest. Mostly attacking students and the Yakuza, but recently they’ve set their sights on these Death Eaters.”

“That’s a big change in targets.”

“Yes. Yes it is. The terrifying thing is nobody knows why. They’ve always been content with staying in Japan and mostly flashy in their acts. But now they’re slinking around Europe. If Death Eaters come from here it’s only a matter of time before they’re here causing chaos.”

“With all the racket the Death Eaters are doing the more the merrier I suppose” The minster simply massage his temples with the incoming stress headache he can feel coming on. “I’m guessing by you coming to me, I can’t let the public know what’s about to happen can I?”

“I’m sorry Minister.”

“Well better to know I guess. I don’t suppose the Diet or the Safety Commission have any possible solutions do they?”

“The Public Safety doesn’t but the Hero Commission does.”

“The Hero Commission?” He asks with a playful tilt, “playing the whole superhero thing to its fullest then?”

“I can’t help what they named themselves.” He gives a little smile “I’m impartial to calling ourselves the X-Men.”

At this the minister huguffs.

“The Commission apparently has a mole within the league. Or at least that’s what they say.”

“I guess that’s how you all know they left the country.”

“Actually it was a random airport attendant that reported a suspicious character. It ended up being one of the members in disguise”

“Should I be expecting the mole to seek me out then?”

“Honestly I don’t know. But what I do know is that one of the top heroes wasn’t happy when they said they wouldn’t do anything. Said he would come even if it was on his own dime.”

“Sounds serious. Any help would be appreciated. Know their name for I can at least keep a lookout for them?”

“I don’t know what his name actually is but he goes by Hawks.”

“Hawks? Don’t tell me he shoots arrows.” He says with mirth.

“What he throws is a little more dangerous.” The earlier set of stress and gloom in the room fading at the comradity. The prime minister glances at the clock before turning to his guest.

“Well. Thank you Mr. Tsuruoka for the information. I need to get ready for a meeting but please come visit again when you get any more information.”

“Of course minister. I’ll see to it that the files about the League get to your office as soon as I can.” He gave a slight bow again before shaking the minister’s hand again. With little fanfare Mr Tsuruoka leaves.

Moving slowly, the prime minister scoops up the discarded reports, neatly depositing them onto his desk. Despite the earlier mention of a meeting, he sits in his leather chair his fingers combing through his fading hair. National and International terrorists. An undercover agent and a public hero. Death Eaters and Viran Rengō. He takes a deep breath before promising himself a drink later tonight as he leaves for the meeting. This year he’s fairly sure, is one for the history books if it doesn’t kill them all first.

It’s mid afternoon but it looks closer to evening as he readjusts his hood, the rain hasn’t started to fall but it’s only a matter of time. Glancing at the large clock stationed on the street he’s still fairly early; fifteen to be exact. Drawing the cloak closer he steps across the empty industrial street to an off white garage door. It’s seen better days if the rust eating and layers of dried dirt and grime were any indication. A crinkle of paper has him pulling out a wrinkly crease ridden paper with hastily scribbled directions. The writing's snugged, nearly illegible as he squints his eyes almost rubbing his own face into the paper. Ripping his eyes from the print he looks at the dinghy number.

Swallowing he raises his hand to the doorbell, his hand tentatively hovering over the button. Taking a deep breath he pushes it.

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

He releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Perhaps it was better that there was no answer. He closes his eyes taking another breath letting his nerves settle before opening them again. A large muscular Japanese man with purple hair eyes him. Jumping he tries fidgeting with his cloak trying to appear more calm than his growing anxiety.

“Password?” The man grunts in a thick accent.

“Uh-“ he elegantly answers. Taking another study of the paper he skims down till almost the bottom and answering “paso-wado?”

The giant man sniffs in amusement muttering something unintelligible under his breath before walking straight into the concrete wall disappearing from sight. Intrigued he walks over to the wall placing his hand on it expectantly. When it doesn’t yield he tries again placing more force upon it.

“Psttt” another man this time lanky with long green hair curled up in a strange way, motions with his head to the door he’s currently standing out of.

As steadily as possible he makes his way over to the door. Taking one final peek behind himself he steps inside the dark warehouse. It takes a few minutes but his eyes adjust revealing the man with green hair has disappeared, leaving him in the cramped warehouse alone. There’s a single dim light shining through some of the cracks of the large containers and much like a moth he follows till he’s in a semi-open area.

Old oil and dirt is smeared across the decaying concrete while large rusty storage containers of red and blue fence off a majority of the warehouse. A few spaces in between are heavily shadowed in darkness and even squinting doesn’t reveal anything. He stands there, unsure what to do when a scuffling comes from behind him making him spin around and aim his wand at the largest man he’s seen. If he were to guess as tall as a one story building.

The man doesn’t say anything but he quickly hides his wand away again, cursing himself for revealing his trump card. There’s a hard edged smile from the man and he can feel himself swallow at the imposing figure.

“Young man, do you plan on staring all day or do you plan on addressing our leader today?” Much like the man from earlier he has a thick accent.

Spinning he finds once was an empty space is filled with at least a hundred different people varying in looks and builds. Multiple colors dress some while others are in simple black and white. They crowd around the edges of the light, the crevices between crates, on top of said crates and in the middle he spots who he supposes spoke to him.

A man in a sharp gray pinstripe suit stands on the other side of the overhead light. Then again everything about the man is sharp. From his long pointed nose to his strong chin to his oddly pointed orange hair to his black eyes watching the young man in the cloak. His posture is odd, almost as if he were a baby gazelle learning to first walk. Even with the obvious disability, something about him screams a shrewd businessman with dangerous power. His hands are clasped together, patiently waiting upon a reply.

Taking a step forward, and then another till he’s in the middle of the light, he gives a polite bow, one that his parents had taught him when he was younger. “I apologize. I wasn’t expecting such a- large crowd.”

The gentlemen nods. “That is expected. You did call upon the Paranormal Liberation Front did you not?”

He swallows and tentatively nods before stopping himself to answer in a thick voice. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“Shall we begin then?”

“Yes.” He fidgets a little at the intense stares. He takes a deep breath to settle himself but the nerves still linger. It was all or nothing now. Either he was successful or this was the end of him. EIther way this was a choice he made, nobody else. He wasn’t going to follow his father’s script any longer.

“I have contacted you in hopes of joining your… army. “ he says.

The gentleman from before opens his mouth but an unknown language spills from his lips. For a moment, he thinks he’s already messed up when a voice replies to the man. Even in the din of the warehouse, something about it rattles to his bones. If dementors had voices he could easily imagine them having it. If he squints a faint outline of a man can be seen. Everything is pitched in darkness but almost like a blurry image of a ghost, there’s a shade of gray for his face and hair. The only thing defined is the blood colored eyes that steadily watch him.

“He asks what help you would be?”

“I could work as a spy in Hogwarts” He suggests weakly.

There’s a snort as the redhead relays the message and he can feel his heart pulmet. “There is no need. We already have that covered.” The interper waves his hand. “Is there something else?”

“I-I have insider information on death eaters.”

“Again something we already have someone for. Anything else?”

His breathing picks up and he’s unsure what else he could give. The few things he could give were things that would endanger his mother. At his lack of silence he can see the wraith of the boss nearly sigh. He raises his hand. Before turning, the whole room shifting at the clear dismissal of the leader. A spike of fear courses through him. No! He can’t fail. He would become the puppet his father wanted.

“Please!” A watery shout comes out of him, his desperation oozing out.

The man stops. His hair barely visible over whatever was on his back. Everything in the warehouse freezes, the audience of people watching and waiting for judgement. The man’s red eye peers over his shoulder, his movements jerky as he turns entering into the ring of light.

The young man takes a shuddering gasp at the other. Long messy gray-white hair frames his face and eyes. He’s heavy lidded, creases and wrinkles adorn his sharp crimson eyes. Two distinctive scars lay on his face, one over his right eye and the other over the left side of his lips. A tiny mole under and left to the long lip scar. It’s not because he recognizes the man from the papers, no it’s the smile across his face. If the man opened his lips he imagines a set of sharp teeth. He feels more predator than man.

The man stops before the other, eyeing the young man with an almost hungry look. With a quick motion the hood is ripped off revealing the silver blond hair and frightened eyes underneath. Slightly leaning over her studies his face, red into gray. “Why is a death eater’s son here?” The man croons in barely accented English.

“I don’t want to be part of them” The young man answers honestly. “I don’t want to be a tool for my father to use anymore.”

The man laughs as he straightens out. “Is that so?” The teen tries not to flinch at the curling in the man’s voice. “Shake on it?” He offers a hand.

“That’s it?” He asks, nervous. “I just need to shake your hand? And you’ll let me join?”

“No cheats.” The man tilts his head as if directing him to grab his hand.

“Okay.” He responds raising his own hand and gripping the offered hand. It only takes a second to realize his mistake but by then it's too late. The man quickly releases his hand watching as he cries out toppling to the ground gripping his arm as his body spasms. A millisecond at most was the exposure, but a festering of cracks ring up his arms. Red and purple surround the split flesh while blood pools at the contact marks, pieces of muscle and joints visible as a loud keening sound comes from hurt teen.

“Desperate then?” A smirk crawls across his face. “Good. You’ll fit here perfectly.” Whistling huffs are his only reply. Moving away, he kicks the knife jutting from the concrete. “Toga.” He calls.

A girl with blond hair pulled up in messy buns comes into the clearing.

“Since the brat apparently means so much to you, get him out of here and fixed up.” He turns his back leaving Toga to gently cradle the boy as she picks up his shivering ashen form. “And Toga.” He brushes down some of the white fur of his coat,obscuring his vision. “Have Twice measure him. No doubt the ‘Dark Lord’ will try to mark him. Too bad for him he’s already in my party.” He cracks a smile.

“_If he can do it, why can’t I_?”

Cackling he leaves the circle of light back into the inky darkness. At the departure majority of the other people leave only a long haired blonde woman with a brown coat approaches the boy and Toga. She shrugs off the long thick coat draping it over the now, still, shallow breathing teen. His lips tinged blue and his eyes closed.

“_You know where Dabi is_?” Toga asks the other as she attempts to wrap the boy in the warm coat.

“_I imagine he’s still looking for his friend_.”

“_Still_?” The woman gently places the now sluggishly bleeding hand and arm on top of the coat. Lightly ghosting her fingers over the wounds, a thin layer of frost coats the boy’s skin.

“_Must be some great friend if he’s still sniffing around for them_.”

“_It has been two months since he’s received any letters_.” Toga states watching as another layer of frost being applied.

“_I guess Frankenstein’s monster isn’t as much of a lone wolf as says he is_.”

“_Well at least he has better medical expertise_.” She winks sticking her tongue out.

“_That’s the only thing he’s better at kitten_.” The lady winks back. “_Come on, let's find those stupid potions that creepy old man left us earlier_.”

“_Awe! What don’t want to go call the doc_?”

“_Hell no. Even if Eggman is five thousand miles away, I rather chance what the snake gives than that creepy fucker any day_.”

Several miles away where the dark storm clouds were dropping buckets, a woman in a similarly dark cloak edged around pools of light and swatches of darkness. Occasionally there was a shout from a parent calling their children in or the scuffle of an animal attempting to get out of the downpour. This woman unlike the others refused to take shelter, but unlike the others her cloak and hair stayed inconspicuously dry. Weaving from cubby to cranny, her movement appears more random than anything else but anyone following it obviously was a pattern to throw off pursuers. Glancing back and forth of the deserted street does she finally dart forward to a decrepit porch and rickety door. Her knocking isn’t frantic but closer to urgent.

“Narcissa?” A man with long stringy black hair and hooked nose answers the door.

“Severus let me in” the woman lowers her hood revealing near platinum hair and blue eyes.

Stepping aside he gestures her inside which she instantly does. The front door closes with a click.

“Is there a reason you’re visiting me today in such-“ he motions to her more than rumpled appearance, “a state?”

“I-“ she starts before looking around. “Is this place...safe?”

“Safe?” He asks. “Narcissa what’s going on?”

She’s looking out windows; dashing about in a sort of frenzy. She pulls out her wand flicking at random objects and casting several notice-me-not along with various other spells. Only once the last charm confirms that they are indeed safe and secure does she finally calm. Almost as if all the energy in her has been sucked out of her she plops herself upon an old weathered armchair.

“Drink?” A glass filled with fine dessert wine is offered to her. Without preamble she gulps it down.

“Now Narcissa.” He sits on adjestiant couch equality worn down, a glass of scotch in his hand,“What’s going on?”

She bumps the glass between her fingers, the residue of the wine barely swirling. “It’s about Draco.”

Taking a sip, he leans forward.

“And the Dark Lord.”

Snape gives a sigh. “Is this w-“

“And the Killing Blow.”

At the mention of the name, Snape stops, his face stretched taunt.

“You know I can’t change the Dark Lord’s mind. He’s determined to have Draco.”

“Severus they’re hunting death eaters. They’re slaughtering them. Draco is only a sixteen year old boy. He doesn’t deserve to die because his father supported it.”

“Narcissa my hands are tied.” He stands leaving his glass forgotten on a side table. “Don’t think I haven’t tried to suggest an alternative. He’s losing people left and right and grappling at any potential death eaters he can.” He faces away from her his hand in a fist as he sets it upon the top of the fireplace. “If the situation was different I might have been able to but at this point he’s getting desperate. It doesn’t help that the Auors are taking advantage of these attacks when they can. We’re fighting a double sided war. While one side we know.” He turns his eyes staring into hers, “The other side is completely unknown.”

At the look of her face, he wasn’t sure if she was about to burst into tears or to start shouting at him. Both seemed like extremely unpleasant outcomes for him. He was saved from either fate when the door started to rattle.

In an instant both have their wands pulled out aiming at the door. The chair Narcissa had previously sat in had nearly flown with how quick she had dismounted and aimed her wand. He would’ve been impressed if there weren’t currently an unknown threat outside his very breakable front door. It rattles again, Sending them both into defensive positions prepared to hex the holy heck out of the invader. It stops for a second. The threat either waiting or leaving before a voice cuts over the din of the pouring rain.

“Uh? Severus? You home?”

In an instant his wand is down and silently cursing under his breath. At his sudden drop of guard, Narcissa sends him an angry questioning look. A look of betrayal crosses her face as he easily snaps the door open revealing a strange looking man. Everything about him is drenched from his blond hair and equally yellow eyes, to the gray coat, his casual black shirt, and baggy pants. If it weren’t for the sharpness in his eyes and almost lazy predatory gaze, Narcissa would’ve taken him for a strangely colored muggle.

“Oh. Hi.” The man gives a cheery smile with his uptone beat of voice.

“Keigo.” Snape’s tone smooth and close to dangerous says, “What are you doing at my house.”

“Uh. It’s raining?”

“And?”

“And it’s raining really hard.”

“So?”

“Can I come in?” The stranger asks. His voice ernest as he tilts his head spotting Narcissa still aiming her wand at him.

“No. I have a guest.” He grits, aggravation growing as he moves to block his view.

“Another person can make a party right?” He says somehow worming himself between the minimal space that is between Severus and the door. He’s in the sitting room proper before Severus can drag him back out. avoiding his grasping hand, Keigo walks up to Narcissa with a pep in his step. Behind him he can hear Severus grumble oh yes, please do come in as he slams the front door just barely within proper Etiquette.

“Severus?” Narcissa asks, her voice holding a guarded tint to it, his name asking who THIS was.

“This is Keigo Takami-“ Severus starts.

“Hi!” Keigo interrupts giving a dazzling smile and tiny wave.

“-he’s acting as my courier the duration of the summer and his stay in England.”

“It’s cloudy and rains a lot here.” He adds on.

“Yes we know. We live here.” Severus rubs his temples trying to will his starting-to-take-form headache. At his exasperation, she lowers her wand finally, placing it back into it’s holster on her arm.

“Narcissa Malfoy.” She says tartly, though Keigo doesn’t even seem phased at her treatment. If anything it makes his smile wider. “So Mr. Takami-“

“Keigo is fine.” He says accepting the towel Severus was offering him. Scrubbing his head, she gives him a snooty look as if he were below her.

“Mr. Takami what exactly are you?”

“Hmm?” He asks his golden eyes peering from beneath the black towel and his mussed hair.

She scrowls at him. “I won't ask again.” Her voice dangerous.

“Oh.” There’s a sharpness in his smile, something dangerous prowling in his eyes. It startles her for a second, her face faltering a little when his mouth shifts into something a little friendlier. The earlier face a warning to her tone. She decides it best to be civil.

Almost as if ignoring her question he instead turns to Severus who seems almost resigned “Don’t knock anything over and don’t shed everywhere.”

Giving a smile and a thanks at the response, Keigo goes to remove the dripping wet jacket, it slumping off as he pulls his arms and shoulders out, it hanging in the air at the junction of his back. With an odd maneuver it’s off revealing the largest soaking wet red wings Narcissa has ever seen.

“To answer your question I’m part firebird.” His wings give a little flap before several towels floating in the air descend upon them, quickly scrubbing in all directions. A little squawk comes out of his lips, his wings quickly squishing to his back to head off the towels. “I could have dried them myself.”He gives a little pout at Severus.

“Is that before or after my carpet was soaked?” Severus deadpans.

“You ruined my dramatic moment.”

“And do I look like I care?”

At the response he sticks his tongue out while Severus only returns the gesture with a single eyebrow raised. Pouting at the lack of further response he snatches one of the floating towels and carefully curls his wing open, gently brushing down the feathers while muttering under his breath.

“University students” Severus clicks his tongue, “almost as bad as grade schoolers.”

“Act about the same too.” Severus adds after Keigo sends him a thumbs down.

“So he’s not part of the Killing Blow then?” Narcissa's voice low and near inaudible as she stands beside him.

“The Killing Blow?” Keigo asks his towel stopping as his head tilts at the question.

“I believe in America they’re called the league of villains?” Severus supplies.

“The Viran Rengo.” Keigo snorts. “I wouldn’t join a bunch of terrorists.”

“Not even for money?” Narcissia shoots off.

“Why do you think I’m going to college here and not in Japan?” His eyebrow quirks.

“Why do you have a job for being a courier then?”

“I get bored easily?” His head tilts. “And I make bad decisions when I’m bored?”

“You make bad decisions when you are not bored too.” Severus adds dryly.

“Hey that was one time. And I got twenty euros drinking that bottle of hot sauce.” He points his towel at the man.

“And the time you ate three jars of manayose on top of a pizza was a good one?” He sends a trademark “am I wrong” eyebrow quirk at him, his tone still flat.

“Uh well-“

“Or perhaps the time you thought pepto bismol would make a suitable sauce for your wings.” At the comment Keigo’s cheeks tint red.

“Okay maybe not the best ones then.”he admits laughing.

At his prattle, Narcissa relaxes even more.

If Severus is comfortable joking with the boy, then maybe he’s not so bad after all.

She finds herself sitting on Severus’s dusty couches, Idly listening in on the conversation. The earlier discussion of Draco will have to wait, even if Keigo wasn’t particularly dangerous right now, this wasn’t the type of talk she would want a stranger to know. Besides, the rain was coming down even harder now.

“A college student really?” He asks once the lady has been long gone.

“You’re twenty three are you not?” Severus shoots back, an empty glass of wine and a barely touched scotch in hand.

“Yeah but calling me a college student just really plays down my capabilities.” He snags the scotch from severus’s hand sitting himself on one of the armchairs. His wings drip over the low back of the chair.

“Would you rather me tell her that you’re Hawks, number two hero of Japan?” He sets Narcissa’s glass on an end table before sitting across from Hawks.

“I highly doubt she would even know what that meant if you told her. Wizards of Britain are really short sighted when it comes to things not directly magically related to England.” He takes a sip of the drink sending a pointed stare at Severus.

“The same can be said about the Quirk community in Japan in relation to its magical community or even other magical communities.”

“Exactly. Which makes our jobs a little bit easier.”

“Did you come drink my alcohol and do idle chit chat or did you actually have a reason to be inside my house right now? Because if it’s the former you could’ve waited a few days until our meeting.”

Hawks pouts, giving the dark night sky through Severus’s window a longing look. “A new recruit was dumb enough to grab Shigaraki’s hand”

A visible shutter goes through Severus.

“Luckily it was only for a few seconds but his arm was pretty messed up.”

“What? Want me to play doctor?” Severus growls.

“Nah.” He waves his hand nonchalantly at the other’s aggravation. “Two of the army’s commanders were able to stabilize him but they used all the potion stock trying to heal him.”

“I gave at least twenty potions when I was there last. Are you telling me to heal all the damage it required all of them?”

“Not quite.” He sets the glass on the table before leaning forward, his hands poised in front of his face. “It’s possible the kid will forever have nerve damage in his hand and a nasty scar that crawls up his arm. Honestly he’s lucky that it didn’t completely dust or that it had to be amputated.”

“So he’s gotten stronger than that first time then.” Severus says so quietly that even Hawks has trouble hearing it.

“You’ve met Shigraki before?” Sharp yellow eyes zero in.

“He’s been in England before… Nearly seventeen years ago. It was under some- very interesting circumstances.”

“Care to share them?”

“Not particularly.”

“Shame. And here I thought we were bonding.”

“Where’s your shadow Hawks? I’m surprised he hasn’t come looking for you.” A twitch of a smile appears as the other grows uncomfortable at the mention. Normally he’s more subtle about switching topics but even simply mentioning the man’s significant other was a quick and easy way to derail the other’s thoughts.

“He’s still looking for his missing friend. Tried his house and possible other haunts but he’s had no luck. At this point I’m a little worried that he's going to start setting fires out of frustration.”

“Doesn’t seem out of his character to do that.”

“Hey wait!” Hawk’s exclaims sitting up, his posture eager. “ You’re part of the Order of the Phoenix right?”

A single pointed eyebrow raises. “Yes what about it?”

“His friend was part of it! And it’s a relatively small group.”

“Yes yes. Get on with it. What is it that you want to know?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Sirius Black is would you?”

At the name drop a cruel laugh fills the air. “Sirius Black? That’s your boyfriend’s friend then? Well that’s unfortunate for him then. Sirius Black is dead.”

“W-what?”

“He died two months ago. Was in a battle with death eaters and was shoved through the veil. Nobody knows where it goes or what it does when people enter it. But they don’t come back from wherever it leads.”

“N-no joke?”

He simply responds by raising his eyebrows.

“Shit.” Hawk’s drags a hand through his hair. “Dabi is going to have a literal fit when he finds out. Probably burn a neighborhood down if I don’t stop him.” He stands up abruptly, making the chair’s feet clatter as he grabs his coat.

“Thanks for telling me.” Hawk’s says as he awkwardly gets the gray coat back on, his brightly red wings once again concealed. “Just send the finished potions to the same place or just text me and I can pick them up.”

“You act as if I actually have a cellphone”

“Ha ha real funny. Except I know that I gave you one the last time we had a talk. You’re only 36, not 86. Charge it and at least try to use it.” With the last statement he leaves, closing the door quickly behind him.

Severus huffs at the statement, grabbing the empty wine glass and barely sipped scotch. He gives it a look before swallowing the glass in one go, a burn rolling down to his stomach. There’s a chime from within his robe just as he’s drying off the glasses. Wiping his hands on a towel he pulls it out, a single message in his notifications. Taping the white bar has it load up, displaying a text from KING.

**King**: Is the bird at your house?

**Me**: Just left.

**King**: Good. I need you to come over. This thing needs to be identical before we let it out

**Me**: Ah yes. Spot the difference, exactly what I wanted to do with my few free weeks left.

**Me**: It’s not as if I needed to brew more potions because of someone.

**King**: Not my fault someone is an idiot

Pinching his nose and sighing he goes to reply.

**Me**: Are you all still in the same place?

**King**: For right now

**Me**: With all that money you have and you decide an old decrypted building is the best hideout.

**King**: It was on sale

**King**: And it reminds me of home

**Me**: Well that’s depressing.

**King**: You’re one to talk

**King**: Your house looks on the verge collapsing

**Me**: At least mine isn’t a pile of rubble.

**King**: …

**King**: Get your ass over here

**Me**: A fight of wits isn’t exactly your forte is it?

**King**: Fuck you. English isn’t my first language

**Me**: And yet I don’t think it’s the language barrier inhibiting you.

**King**: Severus Tobias Snape

**Me**: That is indeed my name. Yes?

**King**: If you’re not coming through my fireplace within the next 30 seconds I’m going to come over to your house and throttle you with my two bare hands

**Me**: …

**Me**: Sounds kinky.

**Me**: ….

**Me**: You better not have the grate up again or I’ll hex you

**King**: I might if you don’t hurry

Rolling his eyes, Snape pockets the old phone, and aims his wand at the soft yellow lights in his house. They quickly go out as he re-enters his Living room. Nabbing some floo powder from a bowl, he sends a few protection spells and reactive the Safety wards as he walks to his office. Throwing the dust into the cold fireplace has an instant reaction; blue-green flames flicker up awaiting a destination. Giving his office a once over, he turns to the flame, giving an address and walking through. The flames quickly die out, leaving the house empty.

He knows it probably pointless at this point but he’s still upset. Probably not for the reasons everyone would think he was but still, Harry James Potter was pretty sure either everyone, himself or both had gone insane. It’d been almost a week since the whole thing with Bellatrix had happened. And he was sure it had been a week considering he had been keeping track with the fridge calendar. Even putting the tiniest of black dots in the highest right corner for then nobody would notice. He still didn’t feel bad for leaving Bellatrix to whatever her fate was, more at that he let his own morals slide when he got angry. That and well, whatever that slipping burning sensation from his hands at the time had felt absolutely godsend. Like pleasure, as if he’d taken off a pair of gloves he’d been wearing his whole life. Now that he knew how it felt without them on, he was highly conscious about it.

The strange heat would ebb and flow but it couldn’t break past like it did that night. As soon as he got close, his hands would grow unbearably hot until it rubber banded itself back to coolness. Occasionally if he tried holding something while doing this, there was almost something like a sharp pinch forcing him to either drop or let go of said object. If it was something hard, splinters of said object stuck to his clammy hands. If it was soft, gray powder would cling instead. Sometimes he didn’t even have to force the heat, sometimes it just came and went as it pleased. He wasn’t sure if this was completely in his mind or not. A part of him worried that it was.

Another thing that had him questioning his sanity was that he felt… taller? Which okay, maybe being taller wasn’t something too out of ordinary but, he was fairly sure someone doesn’t just grow 6 inches over a single night (fifteen and half centimeters). He’d even checked when everything seemed off heightwise to him with one of his aunts rulers. Almost clipping your head on the closet trim when there used to be enough clearance was a big red flag. That and one of the only pairs of pants that actually fit were now too short, the bottoms ending way before his ankle now. Actually all the hand-me downs he owned were too short now. The shirts weren’t too bad as long as he didn't completely raise his arms. The pants… well… they were still absolutely too wide of course, but his ankles were constantly peaking out much to his annoyance. Even rolling his socks up didn’t help with the draft going up his legs. Which compounded with his sight just ramped up his annoyance.

It’s true that while making his escape, he’d forgotten his glasses somewhere in the gravel. His mind was a little more preoccupied with other thoughts at the time. But it wasn’t the fact he left his glasses that frustrated him. It was that he was pretty sure that his eyesight had gotten better. What use to be huge blocky shapes of fuzzy color that would often melt into another shape were now still fuzzy-edged but defined objects. Reading was still a chore for small print but instead of stumbling around like a blind man he was mostly a functional human being. Which was the problem. People’s eyesights didn’t just drastically get better without some type of intervention. It was why he was out a bit before his traditional walk and nap time. Seeing other people beyond the occasional night owls or early birds was bizarre.Majority of said people avoided him.

It was ten o’clock on a Friday night and he probably looked like a druggy with his oily long hair, ill fitting clothes, and tired demeanor. Hedwig wasn’t making matters any better with her deciding that she needed to tag along. Her sharp nails dug into his thin hoodie every time he joustled her too much. Earlier he had tried shooing her off but she just reperch herself on his shoulder, occasionally nibbling at his hood. Eventually he pulled it down, giving her less temptation to tear a hole in his clothes. She just started to nibble at his hair instead. He resigned himself to his fate.

An Occasional few other nightly pedestrians would send weird looks at Hedwig, which Harry didn’t blame them. Having a two foot snowy owl kinda made it hard to blend into the semi-crowded street. What concerned him more was that people weren’t just looking at Hedwig but at Harry himself. A nervous sweat crawled down his back. The eyes that lingered on him the longest were the oddest, purple, neon green, pink, yellow. Unnatural colors, otherworldly colors. Hermione’s distant talks about active rights about supernatural creatures come to his mind’s forefront. Is that what was happening? Was something going that was summoning all these things out? Or was it just because he felt more conscious about the stares?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when someone suddenly stops in front of him, forcing him to stop as well unless he planned on plowing over them. He was half tempted to. Keyword half. The person in front of him couldn’t have been more than in his early twenties, only reaching to his shoulders, with wild orange hair, and golden brown eyes. He most definitely wasn’t English considering the first words were in a heavily accented Sorry.

Harry knew his face probably wasn’t the most enthused, he could feel the frown that marred his face. Which just made the adult in front of him freeze and tumble over his attempt at words. He looked close to hyperventilating and Harry was sure he himself was on verge for a panic attack if the guy didn’t calm down. Wracking his brain for something he repeats something Hermione did for him in fourth year.

Perhaps placing a steady hand on the man’s shoulder was the wrong course of action since Harry can tell the exact moment the man eternally screams at said contact before his soul leaves his body. Patting a few times, Harry asks in his most level toned and concerned voice, “Are you okay sir?”

There’s a slightly garbled spittering from the man and with an inhale, the color that had instantly left comes rushing back. His eyes are as wide as saucers and it reminds Harry of Colin when they first met. That is if Colin was older than him, with some really unnatural natural colorings, and wasn’t British.

“Y-yes!” The man exclaims, his body nearly vibrating. “Yes I am.”

“O-Kay then.” Harry says retracting his hand from the man’s shoulder feeling put-out. The man is practically jittering in place and the longer the man just stands there the more embarrassing it feels. Harry’s sure his ears are absolutely cherry right now. “I’m going to go now okay?”

He's barely taken a step when the guy steps in front of him again. A few unkind words are almost out of his throat when the guy asks in his most hopeful puppy dog voice, “Can I give you a hug?”. When Harry’s answer isn’t an automatic yes he barrels forward with “I've been following your work for a while and! Well, I think you’re really amazing. To stand up to the government like that despite them saying your completely wrong is really inspiring. You’re kinda like my hero so-” The man’s voice died down, as if his confidence had run out.

The confession was like a breath of fresh air. Everyone talked and praised him for “killing” Voldemort when he was a baby. Anything he did was always overshadowed by an accomplishment that was really more of his mother’s magic than himself. For someone to actually look at the things he himself had done, especially stuff he’d said when practically nobody would believe him about Voldemort felt really good. For the first time, instead of the blanket of unfeelingness, he felt happy. He could feel his lips tug and even if it’d been a few months, even if it was slightly rusty from misuse, even if this stranger didn’t understand the importance of it, Harry smiled.

“_I did it! I talked with Tomura Shigaraki!”_

_“No fucking way. He didn’t even threaten to kill you?_

_“Nope! He even gave me a hug! He’s way nicer in person than his public persona would suggest.”_

_“I don’t believe you. Maybe he wouldn’t kill you, but a hug too? Are you sure you weren’t drunk and hugged some stranger?”_

“_No I’m 100 percent positive it was him.”_

_“Sure sure.”_

_“See look! There he is!”_

_“Sure he i-. Holy shit that’s him.”_

_“Yeah it is!”_

_“What the hell is he doing in Surrey Britain? Isn’t he supposed to be in Japan???”_

_“I don’t know but I’m really glad I met him.”_

_“Stop waving! He isn’t- … He just waved back.”_

“_See he’s really nice.”_

_“I don’t know if this is a sign that I need to stop drinking or to drink more. Seeing Shigaraki smile is not something I ever expected to see .”_

_“I’m going to text Yamada, he’s not going to believe this.”_

_“I’m going to go buy myself a bottle of wine and drown myself.”_

_“Sounds cool, I’ll be right here.”_

It’s around three in the morning and the joyful ness he’d been feeling at full force earlier in the night had simmered down. Almost to a trickle at this point. He’s aggravated, tired, and almost to his limit. Hedwig had left three hours ago, after nipping at his hair and neck for a constant five minutes. Apparently whatever the reason she kept harassing him about, she gave up on, practically huffing as she took off to wherever she planned on going. He’s sure that he’d figure it out eventually. Though he did miss her comforting presence as he searched another street. The more questionable people of the night thought twice about messing with a guy with a huge bird of prey casually sitting on his shoulder. They didn’t need to know that Hedwig was a real sweetheart and wouldn’t attack till actual physical blows were to happen but that wasn’t a secret he would want to divulge.

The street much like the several previous ones, for the last hour were devoid of life, most average citizens asleep and cozy in their beds. He’d found his way back to the lower income area, the houses less cookie cuter and more diverse. It reminded him of the burrow in some aspects. Turning down another road has him spotting an alleyway of sorts and despite it not looking exactly how he imagined the original one, he goes through the opening anyways.

It turns out it was a good call when he spots something sharp and metallic sticking out the concrete. Nudging it yeilds no results, that sucker is wedged in. Bending down to get a closer reveals it to be a kitchen knife rammed halfway in the crumbling asphalt. He’d be worried if there was even a slight chance of someone pulling it out, but after testing it himself, he doubts it would be going anywhere. Looking around some more reveals several large black soot circles that lead further into the alley. Following them isn’t too hard till they suddenly disappear. A few good searches around the area, and him climbing a less than sturdy ladder reveals that they pick up again in an adjacent alleyway. This continues for a while.

Right when he’s sure he’s going to start pulling his hair, he drops into the last alleyway. Nothing indicates that the trail continues, but something else has him picking up pace. A crossway. Turning around he backs up into the other side of the opening, the scenery and walls with their graffiti very recognizable. He nearly cheers. Now knowing he’s in the correct area, he goes around, searching the ground for a tale-tale glint. When there isn’t one, he goes searching again, this time for the shape of his frames. When that doesn’t turn up anything, he starts to carefully search the ground, in hopes of spotting anything.

Angry, his nails bite into his wrist as he paces back and forth. The itch resurfacing from its dormancy. His palms hot, exceedingly so, as he makes another circuit around the alleyway. There’s absolutely nothing beyond gravel and weeds, no signs of plastic or glass to even indicate if his glasses broke. It was unlikely that rain washed them away since a summer drought was in effect. Which left two worrying conclusions; a random stranger picked them up or someone from that group found them. Frustrated with how much his palms itched he rubs them along the rough concrete wall, his mind still racing.

There was a group that was going after Bellatrix for some reason. Two girls and two guys if he included “The Boss”, maybe more. They were magical, considering Belltrix tried to claim him as a muggle. They weren’t from around Britain with the thick accents they had. And didn’t stay up with magical Britain’s news since none of them recognized him. Which probably was a blessing in disguise. One smoked and another with a brown coat and blond hair. It really wasn’t much to go on. He could think of several reasons for someone to go after Bellatrix or even the Lestrange family in general. They were a fairly dark family with terrible acts to their name. It was completely possible that they’d pissed off someone they shouldn’t of and the group was smart enough to separate the crazy bitch from the rest of Voldemort’s flock. What would happen if they went after him because he saw them?

Even though he was still angry at Dumbledore for last year’s silence and even bitter at his friend’s current silence he might actually be in danger. Did he really care he was in danger though? For a little over a week now he’d been wandering around Surrey and London at the dead of night, perfect Potter killing time for death eaters. Every single time without his wand too. He was probably physically weak considering he’d barely eaten anything since the department of mysteries. (A cup of tea and a fourth of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was almost too much for him now.{All given to him Dudley.}) If they found him in just the right state of mind, he might even thank them. Another part of him felt sick at the idea, leaving all his friends and everyone to the devices of Voldemort. A small portion of him really questioned why defeating Voldemort was his duty while there were other more talented witches and wizards that could defeat him instead. The thought of being a normal kid who was able to spend time with his friends and found family and not some strange rich celebrity child had grown super enticing during the triwizard tournament.

With his mind swirling in circles, he hadn’t even noticed that he started to itch his neck in irritation while his other hand kept being dragged along the uneven bricks. His turns in his pacing grew faster as did his lazy moments into frantic steps. What to do? What to do? What to do? His mind kept repeating over and over. The walks really helped calming him down, it was some type of activity that wasn’t just sitting in his room, his mind grating itself on a metaphysical cheese grater. Just being near Privet Drive made his nerves feel electric and jumpy.

Napping on the tube felt really amazing at times when he was able to sleep, even if it was in an uncomfortable position. And if sleep eluded him, watching the people within each his cart provided some type of entertainment. Especially if it was the guy with faded lavender hair who caught him watching once and decided to make it a game of who could stare the longest before blinking. It was a surprisingly hard thing to do. He really didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose that freedom to decide when he stayed out, or his exploration of London. It might have not been very long since he got this freedom, but if he was forced to choose between this and sitting in his room, slowly going mad; he’d take homelessness before being locked in his room. Coming to a satisfactory conclusion, he slows to a stop, his arm dropping away from his neck.

“Oh are you done then?”

At the voice, Harry jumps, backing into the brick wall. Standing a few feet from him is a man dressed in a long leather coat with large silver sleeve cuffs that end half on his forearm. Silver stitches decorate the neck and part of the shoulder of the coat that cover over a highly ragged white shirt that hangs loose at the neckline revealing his prevalent collarbones and the beginning of his pecs. Tight black pants cling to his legs as simple black boots hug his calves. Sharp ebony hair spikes out on top of his head as even sharper cerulean eyes take him in. The limited light highlights the silver gleam of piercings that dot the side of his nose and higher portion of his ears. The man’s face is Asian, good looking, with high cheekbones and sharp chin, his eyes hang low, lazy even, a type of confident predator look about them. Something about the man feels familiar, as if he’s seen him before, but nothing in Harry’s panicking mind is putting the pieces together.

“Saw you looking around,” the man’s voice drawls, a heavy accent apparent, “I’m guessing these are yours then?” He pulls out something of glass and plastic from his coat pocket and a feeling of relief rushes through Harry at the sight of his round glasses.

The relief is quickly shadowed with suspicion. “Why are you out at this time of night?”

“Jet lag.” He responds as if it’s a dumb question. At Harry’s questioning raised eyebrow he elberates , “It’s about 1 in the afternoon in Tokyo right now. It’s a little hard to turn off my internal clock that’s telling me it’s lunchtime.”

Nodding at the acceptable answer, Harry removes himself from the wall. His arms and hands surprisingly covered in thick gray dust as he nabs the glasses from the man’s outstretched hands.

“And what about you?” The man asks as Harry wipes the lenses of his glasses.

“Hmm?” Harry hums as he reapplies his glasses to his face; everything gaining sharp boundaries. So his sight hadn’t changed, his eyes had just gotten used to seeing without help. He felt a little more sane.

“What are you doing out at four in the morning?” He crosses his arms looking almost smug. The prominent black lashes on the bottom of his eyes make them look charming. “People will think you’re up to something if they see you prowling around empty alleyways.”

“Uh. Well.” Harry responds, not expecting the quick reversal question. By all accounts, he’s the more suspicious of the two. The guy was most likely a tourist that got lost. And he was some creepy lanky kid that was pacing an alleyway at four in the morning. He’s a little surprised the guy even approached him with how he looked. “I haven’t been able to sleep well for the past two months.” He ends sheepishly. Honesty seemed like the best policy.

“So you decided to go searching for your lost glasses?” There’s a touch of mirth mixed in. At Harry’s lack of answer he smirks till it suddenly drops.

“I didn’t want my aunt or uncle to catch me.”

The man’s demeanor didn't change. But Harry could almost feel the ora from the man change. His eyes take in Harry as if he’s searching for something. It makes Harry uncomfortable. “Sorry.” He says, the fragile air of scrutiny over. He’s back to having a casual demeanor. “It was the same for me, but it was my father instead.”

An owlish blink is the only response.

The easy smile is back, less shark-like, and more genuine. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

“I’m not really that hungry”, he says giving his best apologetic face. It would’ve been more convincing if his stomach didn’t grumble at that exact moment, his face burning in mortification.

“It’ll be my treat.” His arm swings out latching onto Harry’s shoulder. The touch is highly casual, friend-like as he gently pulls Harry beside him. The man is several inches taller and despite them just meeting something about the man puts him at ease. It’s easy to fall in step with the man, his movements are long and sleek, liquid or even cat-like. Even if he’s a couple centimeters more than Harry himself, his pace is slower, taking his time, as if there was no reason to rush. It’s a different type of pace than what he’s used to. Always rushing, always with a set destination; languid walking just wasn’t something Harry got to experience outside of his current walks. It was nice.

“-abi .”

“Huh?” Harry blinks looking at his walking companion.

“Said we should introduce ourselves.”

“O-oh.” A blue eye rises in expectation. Harry’s tongue feels like it’s stuck in his throat.

“Ah it’s fine Harry. I already know who you are.” He pats his shoulders comfortingly. It doesn’t help the cold that washes over Harry.

“H-How do you-?” As if the man could sense it, his grip on Harry’s shoulder tightens. Trapping him before he can even think about bolting.

“Oh relax.” His shoulder feels hot from the touch, but it’s not from Harry himself but the man. “I know you from somewhere else; I don’t even read the British news. Your Padfoot’s god son right? He’s told me a lot about you.”

“Padfoot?” Harry says distantly, “You knew Sirius?” He can’t help how his voice hitches at saying Sirius’s name. Isn’t he supposed to be over his death by now? Or at least that’s how it should be right? Everyone else has gotten over it but him.

“Well yeah that’s kinda the reason I’m out here. Came out to see his house-arrested ass before he did something stu...pid.” His words falter off at the sight of Harry’s tears.

“You don’t know, do you?” He breaks out of the man’s hold, turning to face him. More tears trail down his face unbidden. He can’t help it.

“Know what?”

“Sirius is dead. He- He died protecting me. It’s my fault he’s dead.” A sob racks through him. He knows it’s too late to stop the torrent of tears from past experience.

“Fuck. I knew something was off but…” He seems angry, turning away as if not sure how to handle it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Another shutter goes through Harry and he clamps his teeth and lips. He knows if he attempts to deeply breath now, he’ll go into a full breakdown. Harry’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but there’s a sudden warmth hugging him. He belatedly realizes it's the guy. “Shhhhh.” He can hear his soothing voice say, “It’s alright kid. Let it out.” There’s a gentle hand carding through his hair and an arm holding him close. His coat smells like smoke both natural and chemical in nature with something spicy underneath. It calms him only a little.

“I. I-“ Harry starts attempting words. At any words but his throat refuses.

“It’s alright. I got you.”

At the words, Harry breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting too long so I chopped it in half. Enjoy y’all.  
Rest to come later. 
> 
> Comments help motivate me >:3


	3. The Breakfast Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Japanese at the end notes
> 
> Nice comments help motivate me.  
(I am also super tired and will edit more when i wake up)

So” Harry starts, his hand fiddling with the napkin wrapped silverware. He’s not sure how long they had stood on the side of the road but they eventually got to a 24 hour diner. No waiter or waitress had greeted them at the counter, so they seated themselves in one of the red booths by the front windows. Which left them here, with Harry messing with the silverware and the guy checking his phone. “I never caught what your name was.”

The man looks up from his phone, a smirk on his face. He goes back to the phone. “I thought I already told you what it was.” 

“Well I kinda... forgot.”

Without looking up he asks “How old are you again?” As he rapidly taps something into his phone.

“Fifteen?”

“That’s too early to be getting Alzheimer’s kid.”

Harry huffs at the comment. “And aren’t you too old to be addicted to your phone?”

“I’m only 25, and besides, “he lays down the phone staring at it expectantly. “I’m addicted to causing chaos more than my phone.” As if to punctuate the statement, the phone starts to ring and buzz in an angry flurry.

“You plan on getting that?” A woman’s voice asks. She eyes the phone in annoyance as if the thing had personally offended her while her hand twirls a pen. Her long brown hair is tied in a ponytail, with dark eye bags that match her dark eyes. A writing pad is tucked in a pocket of her green apron, she looks dead on her feet.

“Nope. But you can if you want to explain why having sex with your clone isn’t incest.”

She gives the man a disgusted look. “What do you want to drink?”

“Black coffee.” He states, looking pleased with himself.

“And you?” One of her eyebrows raised, expecting something weird to come out of Harry’s mouth.

“Uh… I guess a coke?” Her other eyebrows join it’s twin before she shrugs her shoulders. 

“Be back then.” Her trainers squeak on the shiny tiled floor. 

“Having sex with your clone?” Harry asks, his face a little perturbed. 

“Old argument. When a certain someone gets drunk in the group chat we always somehow end up back on this topic. Dumbass should be sleeping instead of playing strip go fish with goldfish crackers.” 

“It’s almost-” his head whips around until spotting a clock near a doorway, “5 o’clock, why is he drinking?” 

“Why does he do half the shit he does?” The man asks. Almost as if he himself can’t figure it out, he shrugs at both their questions. 

“Your coffee and your Coke.” The waitress sits both the cups down before sending a look at the man. “Know what you want to eat?” 

“We would if we had menus.” He airily replies. Huffing a little, the lady leaves again, disappearing behind the open kitchen archway. “Someone is in a bad mood.” He grabs two white packets from the table carousel, ripping them open and pouring the sugar into his cup.

“We are two random guys who showed up at four in the morning.” Harry tears the straw paper off before balling said paper and depositing the straw into his blue plastic glass. 

“A 24 hour restaurant is kinda novel. At least it’s not vending machine food.” He pops the lid of a creamer cup and deposits the liquid into his coffee. 

“Vending machine food?”

“You know, like, hot food vending machines?” Lazily he rolls out the cheap napkin, stealing the spoon away to mix his drink.

“There’s nothing like that here in Britain.” Harry goes to grab his cup. Later he would swear he felt the glass under his hand, but just like the glass at the zoo or maybe a little different but with the same results.

“Bloody hell!” He exclaims jumping from his seat the second the coke goes gushing all over the table like a fizzy brown lake. Likewise the man jumps up from the booth, taking his coffee cup with him. Harry’s hand is covered in sweet sugary coke and he’s not sure how. His cup is nowhere to be seen. He goes to grab his own napkin that covers his silverware but that too disappears. Or more like he feels it crumple under his hands like Quirell’s face and that’s just an oddly specific sensation he never wanted to feel again.

“Stop stop stop.” He hears the man say grabbing him by the shoulder before Harry can really examine or process what’s really going on. He rounds Harry around him before seating Harry into the booth behind them. “Sit and keep your hands to yourself.” 

Harry can hear the grumble of “もちろん、あなたは手コキのように見えるだけでなく、あなたはどちらも似たような癖を持っています。 性交はオッズです。” from the man but any type of meaning he might have grasped is lost once he disappears into the restroom.

Harry really wants to question what in Merlin’s name happened, he’s tempted to competently ignore the guy but before he can do anything he spots their waitress taking in the coke mess. “Oh fuck this. Melissa take over before I choke someone.” She stomps back into the kitchen while another girl, much smaller with curly hair peers out. 

“Angelica you can’t be serious?” She says turning her head back into the kitchen. There’s no answer and she sees the girl sigh. She quickly comes back out with some towels. “You’re okay right?” She asks as she attempts to clean the mess up. 

“Y-Yeah.” He scratches his neck. It’s rare that he goes to an actual muggle restaurant. He's only really been to two “restaurants” and both magical with one being an ice cream parlor and another an inn, but he’s pretty sure what was going on wasn’t normal. Honestly he feels awkward and almost in the middle of the cross fire. 

“Ah don’t worry about her,”Melissa says as she takes the wet towels from the table, “she’s always like that at the end of her shift. I’ll finish cleaning this up and I’ll be back with your menus okay?” 

“Okay” he agrees as she disappears again. The guy hasn’t come out of the bathroom yet, which is a little weird. Harry’s not planning on following him in there, but he seems to be taking his time. 

The little bell at the front restaurant door jingles aggressively and someone yells “荼毘!”, makes him turn to see who in their right mind is shouting only to catch bright yellow eyes zeroing in on him. The man is short with blonde windswept hair in a black shirt, jeans, and a dark gray jacket. He practically jogs to Harry, skidding slightly on the spilled cola only to stop directly in front of him. Like the guy had planned on skidding and sticking the landing like it was a show.

“あ、こんにちは、信楽。” the man says slightly out of breath, a big nervous grin plastered on his face, “最近ダビを見ましたか？”

At this point Harry has no idea what the guy is saying though he’s pretty sure he asked a question with how imploring he sounded. His face must reflect this because his smile falls a little. “それはノーですよね?” 

Harry wishes this interaction would end. Could people please speak English to him. It was getting old.

“Oi, bird what the fuck are you doing?” 

Harry almost sighs in relief. The guy in the alleyway was weird but at least he spoke English. In his hands is the largest stack of tiny cut brown paper towels and Harry instantly understands what was taking so long; those motion-detecting paper towel dispensers sucked.

“荼毘! そこにいる！ 私はあなたを探していました。” The guy is quick to go to other. To Harry he looks almost like Fawks when frazzled, the man’s sharp eyes and eyeliner made it a bizarre but comparable contrast. “そして、なぜあなたは英語を話すのですか？” 

“Because my companion today only speaks english.” 

The man looks at Harry before replying “じゃあ大丈夫。” Even Harry can hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice. 

The dark clad man just rolls his eyes before shoving the paper towels into the others hands. “If you’re going to be a jackass, make yourself useful and clean up the soda.” 

The blond squawks as if insulted. “荼毘これは深刻です。”

“Yeah? And I’m being serious too birdbrain. If anyone trips on it none of us will be having a good time. And I know it was you who played in it considering your shoes keep sticking to the floor.” 

The man walks a few steps before the other in the most grave of voices responds “パッドフット についてです。” Harry feels a cold shiver down his back. That first word he said, it sounded like Padfoot. “あなたがこの場所を燃やさないことを約束する必要があります。” the blond sends his most pleading smile and Harry feels sick. He feels off kilter, like the world is going to spin and keep spinning. How does this man know Sirius? At least with black haired one, he knew they were friends. Sure he didn’t know the circumstances but a stranger knowing that name feels wrong. Only people close to him should say it.

The black haired man stops.“I already know. Don’t be so incentive.” He stents a heated look at the other.

“どうして知っていますか？” he stares at the man’s back before looking at Harry. He knows he’s digging his fingers into his palms but he can’t help it. The longer the man looks the more and more his face scrunches in confusion.

A look of horror dawns on his face, “because his godson already told me.” 

“申し訳あり- I'm really sorry.” The blond launches in, his remorse palpable. 

The other man’s face has cooled into a calm mask but whatever heat that escaped seems to just have hidden itself under his skin. Harry just feels cold.

“It’s fine”, Harry feels himself say distantly. Like his head is stuffed with cotton or drowning in deep water. He wants to sleep. 

“No it’s not.” He hears the man say, his voice clearer, “But it’s okay if it’s not.” He offers a smile. And Harry doesn’t know why, but it almost feels as reassuring as the hug from earlier. Like someone else who knows exactly how he feels. Harry gives a wobbly smile back.

“You gonna put those paper towels on the ground birdie or do you like holding them?” The iciness is gone, the warm and easy-going back. The man is sitting in the scruffy booth, sending a smirk at the other.

“Oh yeah.” ‘Birdie’ looks as if he’s forgotten about the paper towels in his hands. He’s quick to drop them on the mess of liquid under the abandoned table. “So.” He makes a little motion with his head. The black haired man raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh.” He smirks as If he finds something particularly funny, which Harry can’t figure out what that something is.”Sure.” His head twists a little as he gestures with his knuckle, “Keigo Takami, Harry Potter. Harry Potter, Keigo Takami.” 

Keigo’s reaction is… Interesting. He doesn’t react like most people who recognize his name, actually he looks more like a confused dog who’s realized the owner didn’t really throw the ball. He’s staring at the other guy as if expecting him to say something. The guy does nothing more than raise his eyebrows as he sips his now probably lukewarm coffee. 

“彼はミニバージョンのように見えます-“ Keigo starts before looking Harry in the eye. “You can’t be Harry Potter.” A very serious look on his face, he almost looks like a Hawk studying him. The black haired man chokes on his coffee and Harry can already feel his blood run hot under his skin. Who is he to say he isn’t Harry Potter, after every hardship, trials, deaths, heartache, and accomplishments, WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS? He feels the heat running to hands, and can almost physically feel the metaphorical gloves covering them coming off. He doesn’t know what will happen if he gets his hands on the blonde, but a little voice in the back of his mind says it’ll be worse for him than Bellatrix and for some reason he doesn’t mind that fact. 

“You can't be Harry Potter because Harry Potter is supposed to be only like 5 centimeters taller than me.” His eyes are closed with a joking tilt to his voice. His left arm behind his head, a passifying smile on his face. “And you’re obviously way taller than that. So what gives?”

“Uh.” Harry feels like a huge bucket of cold water has been poured on him. Everything inside him instantly calmed.“Uh- I had a growth spurt.” He awkwardly finishes. It was almost like before, with Bellatrix. With her it had made sense for him to be so angry, but just now. He couldn’t really explain it but, something inside him really didn’t like what Keigo had said and wanted to hurt him. Frankly he was a little terrified about it. 

“What’s with the scary face? I just said you’re taller than me. “ he laughs. “Unless you’re telling me you rather be short too.” 

“I did hit my head less on doorways.” 

“Yeah?” He turns to the other grinning, “You hear that Dabi? Being tall isn’t all that cut out as you all say it is.” Keigo crows, like he finally was getting validation on an old argument. 

The newly crescened Dabi apparently got over his choking which Harry was sure was him trying not to laugh earlier. “And yet you still need me to grab stuff from the top shelf or to crawl onto the counter.” He takes a loud slurp.

“I can grab stuff fine on my own.” The man pouts, his whole frame feels ruffled. “Besides I can just f-“ He stops himself from continuing by covering his mouth with his own hand. The whole thing seems suspicious but makes Harry feel better about earlier. Honestly the banter relaxes him more than shutting himself in his room when the thing with Bellatrix happened. The whole exchange reminds him of nights at the Weasleys, except everyone’s snark level was several times greater.

“You can do what now?” Harry asks, his voice falsely innocent. His attempt to school his face which doesn’t work as Keigo slightly narrows his eyes. He’s pretty sure he’s got a grin at the other’s gaze. 

“Look what you did” Keigo points at Harry as if he’s evidence, “You’ve already corrupted him.”

“I’ve only known him for two hours at the most. He’s naturally like that.” Dabi takes another swig of his coffee before Keigo pilfers it from him. 

“Uh huh” He barely gets a sip before his face contorts and he gives the cup back. “What did you put in that coffee?” 

“That’s what you get for stealing someone else’s coffee. Get your own.”

“Sugar and Cream in coffee is a crime against society.” 

“You would know wouldn’t you birdie?” Dabi gives an appraising look. 

Keigo gives him a frown, “You going to let me sit down or?”

“I don’t know. I think I like you standing there.” He gives a smirk. 

Completely ignoring Dabi, the man goes to crawl in his lap or over it. “I swear to god if you sit in my lap, I will light your ass on fire.” The man makes a hasty retreat off Dabi’s lap before moving to the booth behind Dabi, climbing over said booth back and planting himself firmly beside the other. 

“Is that better?” Keigo says giving a similar smile to Dabi that he gave Harry earlier. He unsandwiches his legs and slips them under the table. 

“Sorry for taking so long!”Melissa apologizes, coming from the kitchen. In one hand is a new glass of coke, and the other two menus. “I didn’t think that call would take so long.” Spotting the new addition she sets the menus down. “Ah sorry, Angelica only said there were two people. I can grab another menu for you.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” Keigo waves it off, “Me and him” he says pointing to himself and Dabi, “can share this one.”

“Are you sure?” Her tone, unsure.

“Absolutely.” He answers warmly. 

“Okay then.” She smiles at him, her cheeks a little flushed. “What can I get you to drink then.”

“A coff-“

“Get him orange juice.” Dabi interrupts. “He’s been up all night and doesn’t need any more caffeine.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be right back with it.” 

The second Melissa is out of sight, Keigo sends his best puppy dog face, “Dabi-“

“How many energy drinks have you had?” 

“Uh, tw-“

“In the past twenty four hours.”

Instead of saying anything in his defense, he instead responds “And how many hours of sleep did you have?”

“Four.” 

Grumbling, Keigo looks over the menu, apparently bested at the second. 

Looking at his own menu, Harry asks in his more nonchalant voice, “So Dabi then right?” He doesn’t miss the way the man looks at him nor Keigo subtlety lifting the menu till his face can’t be seen. He remembers the name well from the Daily Prophet, it being one of the siller names of the bunch. “That isn’t your actual name is it?” He knows he can’t really trust the Daily Prophet or anything Rita Skeeter has had a hand in, he doesn’t know if it's just a random circumstance that met a ‘Dabi’ or if this is the one from the paper. The description is way off if it is, but he needs to confirm if they’re not. 

“You’re smart.” Dabi smiles, his lips stretching wide. 

“Here’s your drink”, their waitress states, putting the juice in front of Keigo.

“Thanks, give us a second okay?” Harry hears him say, Melissa’s footsteps disappearing as she leaves.

“Most people call me Dabi. ” Dabi’s eyes almost seem like they’re aflame with how much they pierce into Harry. It’s not like Voldemort’s or Bellatrix or any other death eater Harry has faced so far, there’s a fierce fire glowing in his eyes, a vibrancy that he had seen echoed within his own reflection several times before. “Though some people including Padfoot called me Blue Flame. I would tell you my real name, but my old man killed the boy I once was.” There’s a flicker of a snarl and despite the difference of circumstances, Harry’s sure his guess was wrong.

He’s not sure how many Dabi’s there are in the world, but whoever ‘Dabi’ is, it sounds more like someone who has been constantly pushed and ripped into till he’s been trapped into a corner only able to snarl and scratch to escape. A place that Harry himself feels like he’s closely approaching. He did say he was coming here to visit Sirius but maybe it was more of an attempt to escape. He has no idea if Japan has its own Protected Persons Service, but if Japan was like the UK about its sucky child services programs, then maybe this was the only chance of escape he had. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Harry asks, staring directly into what might be danger. He can’t help his own circumstances but he does own a lot of money thanks to his parents. Sure Harry has never met his father or his mother, but he was positive that Sirius would approve if he extended his help out. Hell it was even possible that Dabi was supposed to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius. Harry knew that his godfather was unbelievably restless being cooped up in the house, and if Harry was reading correctly, if Sirius had - ...if Sirius was still- ….if he was here then Dabi and him would’ve met under extremely different circumstances. 

“Yeah why?” The intensity not diminishing in his eyes, anger turned to curiosity.

“You were supposed to stay at his place? Someplace safe right?”

Dabi’s eyebrow quirks at the question, “I’m safe where I am right now. No need to worry about me.” Something inside Harry calms at his answer. 

Needing to confirm one last thing, he questions with a challenging tilt of head, “That isn’t actually how you really look is it?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny the accusation, there’s almost a demented smile on his face as he gently tugs off a silver ring with a blue jewel that Harry just now notices. There isn’t much of a change in color or appearance of hair, eyes, or face shape, but something that Harry wasn’t expecting was for Dabi’s skin beneath his mouth, eyes and skin above his hands to be suddenly covered in grotesque twisted purple scarring that couldn’t possibly still be alive. Between the dead and healthy skin is shiny slick staples marring both sides equally. Seeing him like this, this looks more natural, more real than the earlier look. 

“You’re the wizard from the Knight Bus.” Harry states, realization dawning on him. 

As if he himself is realizing something, Dabi’s eyebrows raise, “And you’re the kid from that torture contraption.” 

A snort of laughter tears out of Harry at “torture contraption”. “Come on the Knight Bus isn’t that bad. It just goes around really fast.”

“Bullshit, that thing was trying to kill me.”

At the change of tones, Keigo lowers the menu, suspecting the worst had passed over. “Knight Bus?”

Turning to his companion Dabi points directly at the other, “No. I know that tone, and I ain’t riding that fucking thing around again.”

“Oooo! Is the burnt chicken nugget afraid of a little bus? It can’t be any worse than my flying.” With a grin plastered on his face, he wiggles his fingers at the other.

“I’ll be making someone into a crispy chicken if they don’t shut up.” With that he pulls the ring back up, the staples and damaged skin disappearing. 

“Flying?” Harry pipes in, his excitement echoing. Suddenly the blonde smiles.

“I’m adopting this one.” Keigo points to Harry while looking at Dabi.

“Absolutely not.” He responds by taking a gulp of his coffee. “You already have that gothic little shit.”

Ignoring Dabi he gestures to himself and then Harry, “You, Me? We’re going to go flying some time and Dabi can be a stick in the mud.”

“You’re not adding him to your damn nest birdie.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Harry joins in.

Dabi gives a half groan half growl. “Now you’re never going to get rid of him.”

“Ah but you love me Dabi!~” he croons.

“Just let the kid pick his food. I don’t want to be here all night.” 

At the suggestion, Harry attempts to grab the menu that’s sitting on the table only for Dabi to grab his hand. At his questioning stare Dabi instructs,“Not with all five fingers unless you want another coke lake.” Harry’s sure there’s a mixture of confusion and annoyance on his face which prompts “I’m serious. Hold one of your fingers out or something. I don’t want to explain what the hell happened to the menu”

Rolling his eyes at the weird request, he curls his pinky into his palm, having the bottom of thumb muscle hold it in place. “Happy?” He tartly asks, giving Dabi an unbelieving look as he picks up the menu.

“Spooky” Keigo coos.

“Very” he snatches the menu out of Keigo’s hand, the very menu he’d been tapping Dabi’s shoulder with. “Are you done or you trying to be annoying?” He directs at the other.

“You wanna share?” 

“Am I actually going to be able to eat anything or are you going to eat everything again?”

“Well I was looking at that” Keigo’s finger taps the menu.

It’s not hard for Harry to semi-peak over his menu at his other table mates. Dabi is still mysterious but not quite as unreachable as before. Wherever that other lizard Dabi was he hoped that they never met. He didn't want him to get tangled up in whatever “The Killing Blow” was. And Keigo. Well. He was pretty much an enigma but he seemed like a good friend of Dabi’s. The name Keigo Takami didn’t ring any bells either which Harry considered a win. 

  
  
  


“Earth to Harry. Are you coming in?” 

Blinking Harry notices the blonde waving at him, his eyes snapping instantly to his face after spacing out.

“There you are.” He says, pulling out his phone. “I said we should trade phone numbers”

“I don’t have a phone.” His voice deadpan. There was no point to him having one especially since magic always messed with electronics and he wasn’t one to go running around in the muggle parts of London. Then again. He kinda had been doing that for the past week and half. Though Hermione didn’t really have a phone either and her parents were muggles. She did say she preferred the feelings of paper and books to that of electronics. 

“You don’t have a phone?” Keigo parrots back in disbelief, “Not even a cheap flip phone?” 

“Nope.”

“But everyone at least has one!”

“Not everyone apparently.” He would find the blonde’s questioning more annoying if he didn’t have an almost comical face of insult on. Harry was starting to think that Keigo was one of the people “addicted” to their phones. 

“But like kids your age always have a phone. Even if it’s not a smart phone. Tokoyami even has one. We gotta fix this.” At the statement he starts digging through his jacket and pockets as if searching for something. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Dabi demands after getting an elbow to the ribs. 

“Ha!” He yells, pulling out a sleek black phone. Harry’s sure it’s one of the newest models of smartphones, but he can’t place the brand.

“How many phones do you have?” Dabi mutters in confusion. 

“Here”, Keigo thrusts the phone at Harry expectantly.

“Uh.” He looks at the phone before looking at the blonde. While the phone might be useful for however was left of summer vacation, it wasn’t going to work at Hogwarts at all. Plus such an expensive gift shouldn’t be even given to him. There were more deserving people who could use it. “Thanks but I wouldn’t be able to use it in school.”

He decides to go with simple facts and not how strange or wrong it felt to receive such a gift. Even getting presents from his friends felt off, as if he didn’t deserve their friendship. He always felt like he had to give them something in return, or otherwise he would fail as a friend.

“Yeah right. I text Tokoyami in class all the time and they still haven’t taken his. Plus he’s in a big name school so I doubt that yours would take it away either.”

Clenching his teeth, Harry isn’t exactly sure what to do. He doesn’t want to insult Keigo but he couldn’t flat out tell him that Hogwarts’s professors didn’t need to take phones away because magic messed with whatever made the phone work. Flickering his eyes over to Dabi, he tries to send his best pleading look without the blonde noticing. 

“It’s fine to tell him.” He nonchalantly waves his hand,”He already knows about magic.”

Breathing a little better as Keigo stares questionally at Dabi, he finally responds to the blond, “Electronics don’t really work at Hogwarts and since I’m there most of the year…”

“Kinda pointless to have a phone then.” He finishes off for Harry. Putting his hand to his chin he gives Harry a good look over as if deeply thinking about something. As if coming to a solution to a question he seemed to know about, his hand leaves his chin. “How about this then. I let you borrow my phone till the day you leave for school then?”

“Thank you but-“

“With everything that’s going on in both the muggle and magical world it’s really dangerous for you not to have a way to call for help.” Keigo cuts him off.

“He was wandering around earlier in an abandoned alleyway.” Dabi adds. Harry sends a disapproving face. “I’ve seen better.” He responds.

“And alone for several hours at night nearly everyday the past week. Today being the longest.” Keigo continues from the interruption.

A cold chill goes down his back. “How?” Harry dumbfounded asks.

“Power of the internet.” Pulling out another phone from his coat pocket, he unlocks the new phone, clicks a few things and scrolls to what he was looking for. “It’s how I found both of you here.” He clears his throat before reading from his phone. “Look at this strange fucker walking down the street. Has some big ass white owl on his shoulder. Guy must think he’s some type of pimp or something with how he’s walking even though he looks closer to a meth addict.”

At the reading, he can feel his whole face and neck burn. He knew Hedwig wasn’t great for hiding but he wasn’t expecting people to honestly take notice of him to the point of writing about him on the internet. And apparently he wasn’t doing so great about being inconspicuous if Keigo knew about his walks the past week. Lay low, they said. Harry was doing just a smashing job at that. He’s a little surprised none of the Death Eaters had taken notice. Then again most Death Eaters were Pure Blooded and knew very little of muggles and technology. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. 

“Aaaaannd the post is gone.” He sing songs bringing Harry back from his musing. “Amazing how quick that man works.”he mumbles looking up at Harry again. “So yeah it's good to at least have that option of calling right?” 

“I suppose.” He sheepishly states, staring at the lended phone as if it were going to strike him.

“Ah. Let me actually,” the blond slides the phone back over to himself, “clear some of these contacts and take off the passcode. Most of the people on here you won’t ever really need to know or talk to.” He only gets half way through clearing it, when Melissa comes to the table again.

“Are you guys ready to order?” Her voice cuts the semi tense air. 

“Uh.”

“Yep.” Dabi states, apparently impatient. Right. He was probably hungry considering that’s what he originally was going to do before finding Harry alley crawling. A spike of anxiety goes through him when he realizes that he actually hasn’t really looked at the menu as Dabi gives both his and Keigo’s combined meal.

“And for you?” Melissa turns, asking him.

A little try mouthed, Harry can only squeak out an “um” before quickly looking down at the menu and choosing the first thing he spots. At his answer, Dabi lifts an eyebrow. His neck feels hot as he hands the menu over, careful of his hands considering Keigo briefly looks up in concern at the menu. He has no idea why either of them seem on edge with him touching stuff a certain way. All he can chalk it up to is the possibility of some powerful foreign magic they associate it with. Asking right now even with Melissa out of ear shot feels too soon. Maybe it has something to do with all the scars Dabi has. 

“There we go!” Keigo exclaims, sliding back the phone to Harry. “I left Dabi’s number on there and added my other number in.” 

Harry follows the phone’s prompt to swipe and is greeted by a background of swirled colors. A few icons are on the main page, none that he really recognizes beyond the self explanatory ones of phone, text, calculator, etc. Clicking the phone icon has a very short contact list consisting of-

“Burnt chicken nugget and Hawks?” Harry questions. 

At the second name Keigo chokes on the orange juice he’d been drinking.

“I have him as KFC combo number 9.” Dabi states as the blond coughs. “Guess I need a new one for you since bird brain is giving you that phone.” Without much of a prompt he takes out his own phone, clicks a few things, types something out in Japanese and stowes the phone back into his coat. Harry is only slightly unsettled with the smirk Dabi has on his face. It’s probably better to not ask what his name is on there. 

“So pretty bird. What’s with all the phones today?” Dabi asks right as Keigo gets his breathing under control. 

“I asked him to bring me one!” A cherppy voice declares as a girl with messy blonde hair in buns and golden eyes seats herself beside Harry. He quickly scuttles over slightly alarmed at the new person. She’s dressed in a short skirt, crop top and sneakers. She couldn’t be much older than him.

Giving a sharp toothed grin with a jovial tilt of voice as she addresses Harry, “ここで便利な男は何をしていますか？ジンと一緒にゴーフィッシュをプレイしていると思った- “ She pauses as if finally taking him in, “ああ？ あなたは超かわいいです！” She gets super close to his face, glee written all over her face. 

“Back off you little psycho. You’re making him uncomfortable.” Dabi deadpans kicking the seat right by her legs. 

“I can’t help it. He’s really cute.” She answers. Almost in the same breath she states “you’re so cute I could just eat you.” Her hands grab the little amount of fat left on his cheeks. Harry can feel his face growing hot. Her comments were both flattering and questionable at best. Despite the wild look in her eyes, her grip was fairly gentle. 

“Should I be looking for a new girlfriend?” A calm female voice asks as she pulls up a chair. Her hair is a silverish blonde and dressed in a simple black dress. Even if the girl beside him wasn’t recognizable, this woman was. At his stare the woman gives him a simple smile. Something about it feeling knowing. “Hello again Mr. Evans.” A cold shiver racks up his back.

“Of course not!” The girl beside him says, “you know I like really cute things!”

The newcomer only raises an eyebrow. Even if she made him feel ‘off’, he was in complete agreement of wondering how he was cute. 

There’s a growl from Dabi directed at the lady in the chair. “Who the hell invited you Geten?” 

“My girlfriend” she shoots back the snide answer. “I thought you could see with your eyeballs. Unless they’re for decoration?” 

In response Harry spots Dabi’s knuckles tightened in a fist. “ Well at least I’m not some entitled bitch.” Geten’s eyes narrow as her mouth turns into a thin line.

“Ah don’t worry about them.” Keigo says bringing Harry’s attention from what is probably a ticking time bomb. “They’re both still not over what happened in December.” 

“What happened in December?”

“They weren’t able to beat each other in an ass-kicking match.”

“I wouldn’t bring it up with either of them, unless you want to hear them whine about it.” The girl adds, snatching Dabi’s unattended coffee. “Both of them will tell you they would’ve won if they had more time.” She attempts to drink some only to find disappointment in an empty cup. Wordlessly Keigo passes his quarter empty glass of orange juice. She returns it after taking a few dregs. 

“They really don’t like each other over that?” He’s not sure what other words they had exchanged but both looked about ready to boil over. A muggle restaurant was not an ideal place for a wizard duel even if it was early morning. 

“Nope.” Keigo’s P popping. “Hey Himiko,” he pulls out another phone, again elbowing Dabi who was too busy trying to set Geten on fire with his narrowed eyes. “Here’s that phone you asked for me earlier.”

“Ooo?” She leans forward grabbing the phone from his hand. “You have everything programmed in already?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t too hard to do.” He shrugs. 

“I can’t wait to give him this tomorrow. He’s going to be so surprised.” 

“Oh?” Melissa’s surprised voice rings out over the quickly dying conversation. “I’m so sorry. I should've asked if anyone else was coming.” Two large platters balanced in her hands, her face sheepish at her perceived oversight.

“They were just leaving.” Dabi states, pointedly glaring at Geten. 

“Ah I think we’ll stay.” She replies. A deep scowl mares his face.

Quickly setting down the plates, one in front of Harry and the other between Dabi and Keigo, Melissa pulls out the notepad from earlier. “Separate bills.” Dabi bites, the words directed at Geten. Glancing up he thanks Melissa grabbing a slice of toast as Keigo had already started to ravage the mixed hash. Geten simply orders two waters, sending daggers as Dabi munched on his toast. 

There was… only a slight problem with Harry’s order. That being; blindly ordering off the menu was a really bad idea considering a cup of tea and a very small cut of a sandwich was too much for him. In his haste he had picked a large burger and fries which was way out of his realm of possibly eating all of it. Instead of saying anything he goes for the plethora of fries, nibbling on them as Melissa brings the water glasses and bidding them a good meal.

It doesn’t take more than five minutes for Himiko to pout and then attempt to snatch a piece of toast from Dabi. It ends unsuccessfully as he smacks her hand away while nearly stabbing Keigo with a fork as he attempts to eat what little hash was left. The rest of their plate is clear of any food. Slightly bumping his booth partner, Harry subtly moves the plate between him and Himiko, figuring that he could at least get one of Dabi’s poachers to stop. One glance at him and Himiko is hugging Harry, before shoving several fries down her gob. 

WIth less competition, Dabi is able to fight Keigo off till polishing off the hash and toast. Leaving Keigo moping until Harry offers up part of his meal. Between the three of them, the plate gets cleared and gets a fairly happy Keigo and Himiko from it. 

“So” Himiko starts, licking the salt from her fingers. “Why are you here eating breakfast with Hawksies and Dabs?” While most would’ve considered this bad manners, Harry didn’t exactly mind considering Ron occasionally did the same before Hermimone chided him for it.

“Uh. Well. Dabi kinda invited me.” He awkwardly scratches his palm, unsure what he should say. Having either a crying session or another anger episode was not in his cards right now. Or for the rest of the morning. 

“So?” She swivels her head to Dabi expectantly.

“It’s none of your business”, he hands a wad of bills to Melissa before shoving Geten’s chair out of his way to stand. She grunts at him, almost toppling her but she puts the chair back once Dabi stops blocking the chair. 

“Aw.” Himiko pouts, before turning back to Harry, chipper. “Hey you have a phone right?” 

“Y-yeah?” His answer was more of a question. Technically not his phone but he doesn’t really get a chance to ask if it’s okay to add her number before she’s nabbing it from his hands and typing her number in. Besides Keigo had slipped out of the bar, talking with Dabi near the counter where Melissa checked him out.

“There we go!” She hands back the phone, two new numbers in the contacts list. “I’m Stabby” she points to the according contact and then to Ice Queen. “And that’s Geten. If you’re ever in trouble you can call us.” She gives him another hug before jumping out of the booth leaving him alone. Running up to Dabi, she gives him a tackle hug making him nearly buck into the counter.

“She’s right you know.” A smooth voice says making Harry jump. Glancing up he spots Geten casually leaning on the post dividing seating booths. “You call or text us that you need help, we’ll come.” Surprise must be on his face because she continues. “England isn’t particularly kind to people like us. We’re seen lower than Muggles and it doesn't help that the wizarding community here is fairly racist.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

She glances down at him, her lips pursed. “Because Himiko’s already adopted you. She’s already had enough things stolen from her, I refuse to let her lose something else.” 

  
  
  
  


It’s roughly 7 or 8 in the morning with how high the sun is shining in the sky. Himiko and Geten are long gone after Harry’s chat with Geten. Keigo left only a little bit ago after Dabi threatened to light him on fire if he didn’t fly home to sleep. Of course this was with a long prelude of semi-threats and coaxing. The last straw that finally convinced him to go was the promise that Dabi would be back soon. They were walking into the main part of Surrley now. Majority of people completely ignoring the man with his arm slung over the teen’s shoulder casually. 

“I won’t be able to walk you home since the dumbass bird won’t go to bed without me there.” 

“It’s probably better you didn’t.” Some mirth bubbles from the sentence. “People on Privet Drive don’t take well to strangers.”

“Is that so? Maybe I should pop in some time just to mess with them.” 

“You’ll get the cops called on you.” 

“Good. I ain’t scared of no cop.” 

“You’re absolutely mad.” Harry laughs. “You really do like to start chaos don’t you?”

“Sometimes you have to add some spice to life.” Dabi chuckles ruffling Harry’s hair. He pauses, making Harry stop as well. “Sorry about breakfast. That wasn’t exactly what I was planning on doing.”

“It’s fine.” He says, unlatching Dabi’s arm from his shoulder. “It was kinda fun actually.” 

“Really now?” Dabi asks.

“Yeah.” He answers with a semi smile. 

“Wanna do it again tomorrow?”

“Huh?” 

“You heard me.” 

“Uh well. I guess we could…”

“Or we could do something else.” Dabi offers alternatively.

“O-okay then.” He shrugs his shoulders and gently kicks the ground. Honestly he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about doing it tomorrow. But it was kinda. Pleasant. 

“I can text you tomorrow morning and see how you’re feeling about it.” He pulls out his phone, glancing at the time. “I need to get going. Get home safe okay?”

“Right.” Harry hadn’t taken more than two steps before he caught Dabi’s voice. 

“Actually there is one more thing I want to talk with you about.” He says. 

Turning back he spots Dabi with an uncomfortable look on his face. “It’s about your self care.”

“Oh.” Is all he can feel himself saying. His whole face feels like it’s sunburned with how hot it feels. Then again he can’t exactly blame Dabi. It’d been May the last time he actually took a legit shower. 

Rolling his eyes, the man states, “Relax you don’t stink. That’s not why I’m bringing it up, though your hair could use a good wash.” At the lack of response he sighs before continuing, “Look kid. I noticed you refused to look at any of the windows. I have a few different theories as to why, but that’s not exactly my business. The thing I’m more worried about is how drastic it is. Trust me I had the same problem for a long time.”

“I-“ he barely starts before closing his mouth. There’s a lot of obvious reasons why he doesn’t want to tell Dabi why he refuses to look. Constantly watching the scene replay over and over, wondering what he could’ve changed. What if he pushed Sirius out of the way? What if he had shot a spell that hit her? The possibilities of what-if always spiraled out of control. It made his stomach flip sickly at what could have been.

“Hey. It’s fine. It’s just not healthy is all.” Dabi crosses his arms, almost feeling uncomfortable with the conversation as Harry felt. “I don’t tell a lot of people about not being able to stand my reflection but. Uh. Well, I promise it's not as bad as me.”

One look at Dabi has a shocked face and Harry’s sure his hurt was visible at the words. 

“Fuck. Shit. Birdie is way better at this emotional shit.” Dabi slightly turns almost if closing off himself before thinking about it and turning back towards Harry. “Um.” He uncrosses his arms. “Listen. My point is. It’s going to get way worse if you don’t address the problem head on is what I’m getting at.”

“Right.” Harry replies. Still not really understanding what Dabi was getting at. He isn’t sure how forcing himself to look in the mirror is going to fix any of his problems but he did have a point. Refusing to look at reflective surfaces had started to spiral further; even looking at something even relatively showing a reflection was making his throat and chest tight. Even thinking about it was making it harder for him to breath. “I can try.” He offers, swallowing at the thickness in his throat. 

“For shit like this I guess it's all I can ask.” He smirks, scratching his head. Turning he offers a salute before walking off with a “See you soon kid”, as his parting words. 

  
  
  
  


Despite Dabi’s claim of him not stinking, Harry is… quite aware of how grimy his clothes feel. It’s true that he’d been changing into new clothes every few days and taking what could be equivalent to sponge baths now (even if it was technically with a washcloth but details are details) but, a shower did sound kind of nice. Which leads him sneaking back into the house after making sure Vernon had left for the day. It’s harder to guess if his aunt or Dudley are around, but he lucks out as he gets to his room without incident. At the sound of his door clicking quietly, there’s a small sleepy hoot from behind him. On the bed is Hedwig, somewhat cozied into his bed and pillow, her eyes drooping in drowsiness. The sight makes him smile. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to wake you up.” He offers, softly padding over to the untouched owl treats he has by the window. She mumbles another hoot in response, taking the offered treat from his hand. She’s surprisingly quick to eat it but fluffs her feathers before settling into the bed to sleep. At the foot of his bed is a large stack of letters and a few packages. Curious he flips through some of them, realizing that they're birthday letters. He’s quick to drop them, feeling a bit bitter that they’re just now writing to him instead of earlier in the summer. Not feeling up to opening anything yet and really wanting a shower, he nabs some boxers, an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants figuring he can open the letters and then go to sleep. 

It’s not hard getting to the bathroom unseen with it being almost directly across his room. The house is quiet beyond the sink downstairs running. Probably Dudley preparing some tea. He’d been getting better at making some cuppas for both of them. 

Harry again is near silent as he closes the bathroom door depositing his clean clothes on the counter, pointedly ignoring the mirror in favor of staring at his feet. The shower door is reflective. He didn’t quite think this through. Taking a deep breath he reaches out and grabs the door. His throat is raw, his heartbeat thundering, as he climbs in and starts the water. He jumps not expecting the cold, but manages to get himself washed after it warms. It’s as he’s drying his hair, that he notices it. 

Silvery blue hair on the fringe of his vision. Messing with the longer pieces of hair he manages to get a clump in view. It's also silvery blue. Steadily breathing through his nose, he digs his fingers near his scalp, pulling back his soft slick hair. Feeling more steady he methodically puts his clothes on unsure how to process what he’s just seen. How the hell are you supposed to react learning that you went from black hair to basically blue hair. Dabi’s advice earlier in the morning is making more and more sense now. 

He finally finishes to his disappointment. He’s tempted to just ignore what he saw and go curl up in bed with Hedwig. Happy to believe its a figment of his tired mind. Another part of him is curious though. If his hair is a new color, then what else has changed? A nawwing panic eats at the edges of his mind. Why was everything suddenly transforming if it really was transforming? There’s isn’t anything that he can really pinpoint as being the trigger for this. Chewing on his lip he flip flops between his options. To see and know or to ignore and forget. 

Ultimately, his curiosity wins out. He can’t run away again like he did for Belltrix. It was going to get way too big and complicated to ignore, especially when he was at Hogwarts. He has to psyche himself up. The sheer thought of seeing Sirius’s death once terrifies him but he wants, no needs to know why everyone is acting the way they do when they see him. The only clue he has is his hair is different. And not just in color. It feels different. It’s lighter. It’s thinner. It’s soft. The longer he waits the more it dries. It has a curl or wave to it. It’s… soft. Softer and finer than it’s ever been. It’s his hair but it’s not. 

Attempting to quell his racing heart, he does relays of breathing. Believing he’ll get a calm as he possibly can in this situation he turns his closed eyes to the mirror counting down to opening them. At zero slowly opens them, dreading the worst. The fear is unfounded as neither Sirius or the Veil show up in the mirror. Instead though, is someone he’s never seen before. Only his green eyes and the thunderbolt scar hiding under a wave of untrimmed bangs are recognizable to him. 

The teen in the mirror blinks, his face obviously baffled. Beyond the blue hair the lays in lazy wavy short curls the teen has a slightly wider face, his chin less severe softening the sharpness in them. The sharpness now in the eyes; they're slightly larger and longer, almost thinner in calculation. A few barely visible wrinkles frame the top and bottom, making them seem even more tired if not evidenced from the purple bags hanging below the eye. Tiny little laugh-like lines dot the outer edges of the eyes. The nose is tilted slightly up, the mouth a little wide but not off putting and a tiny little mole beneath the mouth on the right side. The teen is very much Asian or of Asian descent.

Harry slowly raises his hand and places it on the side of his face. The teen in the mirror does the same.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Of course you don't just look like handjob, you both have similar quirks. What the fuck are the odds.
> 
> -Dabi!
> 
> -oh, hi there Shigaraki. (Technically: oh, hello Shigaraki). Have you seen Dabi around lately?
> 
> -That’s a no isn’t it?
> 
> -Dabi! There you are! I’ve been looking for you. And why are you speaking English?
> 
> -uh, okay then 
> 
> -Dabi, this is serious.
> 
> -It’s about Padfoot. But I need you to promise not to burn this place down
> 
> -how do you know?
> 
> -He looks like a mini version of-
> 
> -What are you doing here handyman? I thought you were playing Go Fish with Jin and-
> 
> -ah? You’re super cute!

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> -don’t be so mean dabi—they just want to look  
-yeah well they can look elsewhere  
-why so shy dabi?  
-shut it brat  
-if you don’t sit down I’m going to burn you alive  
-screw you
> 
> -you okay dabi?  
-This bus could give iguchi a run for his money.  
-let’s not say we did
> 
> -dramatic bitch


End file.
